


Miss Kelley Swipes Right

by Holladay Street (street)



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Accidental Crossed Paths, Annoyed Kelley, Clingy Kelley, Coworker TMI, Demisexuality, Eventual Smut, Exquisite Boundaries, F/F, Foot Massage, Gray Asexual Emily, Hand Kisses, Kissing, List-Making Emily, Long-Distance Relationship, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasms and Communication, SOFT GAYS, Sharing Clothes, Sickfic, Srsly Tho SOFTEST GAYS, Tinder, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 01:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 22,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/street/pseuds/Holladay%20Street
Summary: Age: 31School: StanfordJob Title: None of Your Damn Business





	1. Kelley

I swipe left a lot these days. It's marginally better when I'm in Atlanta, but Utah is, you might say, not the gayest-friendliest of states.

It’s different when I'm on the road for National Camp, and TBH when I get in a couple days early I usually do some swiping with a hookup in mind. But even when that doesn't happen it's just so damn nice to be somewhere with a queer scene for a minute - to admire all the cute-ass queers posting their cute selfies from queer-ass events. This year the femme women of Chicago seem really into this super-sexy version of Grilling Dad style; I've never enjoyed big jeans more.

The next profile reads like someone with a conservative job or some other kind of privacy concern (it's a lot like my profile, actually). Snappy bio, no face pics, obvious thought given to her Spotify picks to compensate a little. She has a couple cool travel photos, the obligatory full body shot (but she's wearing a beanie and has her face buried in a tiny fluffy dog), and a niiiice photo from behind on a beach somewhere. If this chick surfs we _definitely_ have some chatting to do.

Then I swipe to the last picture and, well, fuck me sideways. I’d know those feet anywhere. Feet with the tan of someone who trains wearing no-show socks like a doofus just asking for turf burn. Feet with the shadow of a bruise across one ankle like she runs into people for a living (ok, ok - it takes one to know one). Feet with bright yellow polish on the toes, careful dark blue polkadots in the centers (Utah! Royals! FC!). That paint job was by far the best prank of our last National Camp. I should know - I painted those masterpieces on Emily Sonnett's toes myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note of factual error in this chapter:  
Kindly reader natalieweed9 pointed out that Salt Lake is a very gay-friendly city, and that Utah conservatism is a rural thing. See their comment, below.


	2. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the sweet reception to the first part of this! Two points and cookies to anybody who spotted the cameo in Ch. 1 from Christine Sinclair's dog Nutmeg.

Here's the thing. Sonnett is the saltiest, sauciest snack on the whole team. And that's before the plaid shirts and the vocal fry and that big cocky body language. She's fun, and funny, and ridiculous, and a bossy-ass bitch of a choreographer. She's everyone's favorite hype man (though I've gotta say, it's been _weird _to pass on _that _particular torch). She's somehow become the mascot of the team - so much that at least half a dozen of our teammates Had Words with A-Rod after that whole red card situation.

And at the same time, she's fucking untouchable. She's never dated - at least not that I know of. She lets me give her cheek kisses before games, and she drapes herself every which way over Lindsay in photo ops, and when with hit the bars she's the first one on the dance floor. But I've never seen her actually, like, _relax her body _around people except when she's on the pitch. No matter how chill things are there's something guarded with her - like whatever snack flavor she is, it has one of those hard candy coatings that will crack your teeth before you get to anything tasty.

If it weren't for that, I would have made a play for her years ago.

Well, if it weren't for that, and the weird-ass thing where I'm a whole generation older than her. Six years _shouldn't_ feel that way, at least I don't think so. But sometimes when she looks at me I still get a flash of that awe-filled baby-face at her first USWNT camp - the way her words would catch and stutter, and how she never asked me about anything except technique and the team. Even coming off an intense college career she was just so completely untarnished some how - so fresh. I felt old beside her, and so tired. That was Kelley's Year of Chronically Busted Ankle (little did I know how long _that _would stick around) and Constant Sorrow over Jetlag (more sponsorships sounded like a great idea, until I realized I had commitments on both coasts plus my team in the middle). Oh yeah, and a Completely Fucking Busted Heart (the less said here about a certain overbearing goalkeeper the better). So, at the start, that six year difference felt like a lifetime - I guess I just never really bothered to untangle it enough to feel differently.

I check through her pictures again. I totally should have recognized that bikini - she had it with her during some camp. Her ass in it . . . well, that's _always _been gorgeous, so no news there. I swipe up to read her bio again, and . . .   
  
Great. Just _great_.  
  
Now I'm sitting alone in a stale hotel room, a bag of half-melted ice on my ankle, googling "how to undo super-likes".


	3. Emily

That red dot. That _fucking_ little red dot on the chat icon, above my profile. It’s all I can think about some days.

“Move to Portland” they said. “The lesbians love soccer there” they said.

And here I am five years later - down three busted relationships, one STI scare, and now with a Tinder profile where I can't even show my face.

At first I tried dating people who followed soccer (they were right, it _was_ easy here). That's how I ended up in bed with a superfan who yelled “take me offside, Sonny!” when I hit her g-spot. I could have maybe worked with that, but she started singing Timbers chants after she came (not even Thorns chants - I mean, come _on _people). So _that _didn’t last.

Then I tried dating people who didn’t give a fuck about sports. My friends convinced me it would be an easier crowd, but it was surprisingly not-easy when it came to my a) early nights, b) early mornings, c) travel schedule, d) dietary guidelines, e) staying clean for doping control, and f) pretty much everything else about my job that seems completely normal to me but now, but is super weird outside of athlete world. Also, being too tired to hike - for some reason that was the biggest cockblocker with the Portland ladies. Even the ones who fronted hard on the dating apps that they didn’t give a fuck about physical activity still showed up for date one wearing hiking boots, guidebook to the Columbia River Gorge conspicuously propped on the passenger seat of a Subaru Outback. 

Not that it's all been hopeless. Three times I've at least gotten close enough to someone to feel pretty damn broken when things ended. But it's just fucking _hard_. There's something about how fast dating aways starts - it makes me freeze up every time. It's like an all-or-nothing game (and, sorry, but I already have one of those in my life). I wish I could be friends with someone first and maybe ease into things - like, have a relationship that works literally exactly the opposite of how online dating works at all. Ellie and Caitlin say I'm "gray-ice" or something (I keep meaning to google it), and that I should “communicate my needs to partners early on, and ask for lots of un-pressured quality time and an incremental approach to trust-building”. But I am not about to encourage those two puppies by taking relationship advice from them; they're already wise beyond their years, even when they aren't spouting therapist babble. Besides, the only people I'm around enough to make something like that happen are other soccer players. God knows I've nursed some teammate crushes over the years (well, one fierce-like-burning crush. For four years and eleven months. But who's counting). But those are my _colleagues _and I still just . . . I just can't even.

So I'm left waiting for the little red dot. I've been chatting with a chick with awesome curly hair and a cyclists tan, who played it pretty casual in my DMs for a two weeks, then randomly barraged me with double entendres and flirting for three hours on Tuesday night. She hasn't made a peep since - it's been six days. I know by now that I shouldn't get bound up in how people act on the dating sites. Still, I just feel fucking bummed - my stomach heavy like it's in a too-fast elevator. And still, I'm catching myself opening up Tinder all the fucking time and looking for that fucking little red dot. 

National Team camp starts in four days though, so I guess it's just as well. She probably had her hiking guidebook at the ready anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going in an angstier direction than I expected - tbh I'm as intrigued as you are, where it'll go next.


	4. Emily

I have a long and proud history of Behaving Weirdly in Team Vans.

Just ask Lindsay. Or Tobin (wait, actually, don't ask Tobin. Never ask Tobin).

I'm upholding tradition tonight. but it doesn't fall into any of the regular themes. This is no Emily Creates Travel Snack Performance Art With a Hat-Tip to Johnny Depp in Benny & Joon. And it's definitely not an Emily Can Car-Dance To Anything And Yes That Was A Challenge. It's not even one of the fallback boring-interesting options like an Emily Balances Things On Sleeping Lindsay, or a This Video Is Definitely Going On Insta So For The Love Of God Alyssa Can You Smile Without Looking Constipated.

Tonight I'm glazed over so hard, Sammy had to literally hand me my seatbelt when we all climbed in. I took the back bench seat to pretend to look out the window, but really I'm just fighting the urge to pull my phone out every four minutes to check whether I'm going crazy.

The thing is, I'm pretty sure I _am _going crazy. Because while we were waiting at baggage claim someone super-liked me on Tinder, and I could swear it was Kelley O'Hara.

Ok, ok. Time for a calming exercise. Here are all the reasons it was definitely not Kelley O'Hara:

  1. No face pics means I can't be 1000% certain it's her. Maybe back-selfies in Under Armor sports bras are A Thing here - and if so, shoulders covered in freckles are obviously just _way_ more common here than in cloudy Portland.
  2. She listed some folk bands on her Spotify, so definitely probably not her at all. Erin's the one who listens to folk - Kelley only does when she's single and hasn't been around her fam for a while and is feeling lonely and isolated. (Hey now, hey, look! I know this because we got into a long convo about it on the bus one night. I'm not some creeper or mind reader or something. I just hadn't been back to Georgia for a while, and she picked up that something was off so we got to talking, and later she made me a playlist. Totally legit, totally on the up-and-up.)
  3. Everyone has that same surfboard, right? And that color of birkenstocks with the paint spatters the color of her bedroom in Utah? And that slouchy beige sweater like the one she wore when we bummed around Paris together?
  4. And every brunette’s hair get sun-bleached to that same red-gold, right? And that same scar from the helix piercing that everyone and their trainer _told _her was a _terrible_ idea but did she listen to any of us and take it out before it got ripped on the pitch? Of course she didn't. And . . . oh fuck. Ohhhhh fuck.

Ok. Focus on calm breathing. And not picking cuticles. And maybe time for a different list.

So what if it _is _her? (And, I mean, there's not really an "if" about it. Because I sure as hell haven't been memorizing some _other _girl's shoes and hair color and weird ear scars.)

  1. If this _is _Kelley and I don't swipe right?  
Maybe I can pass it off like I haven't noticed. I mean, yeah I had the app open for a hot minute - otherwise my profile wouldn't have come up for her - but maybe I just accidentally had it open as I came off airplane mode and I closed it right away, ya'know? And now that I'm at camp I'm super focused, right? No time to think about dating while I'm on the job. No time for crushes. No time to notice how she squints a little when she watches game footage like she needs glasses but doesn't want to admit it. Or how she always tops her salad with pumpkin seeds or sunflower seeds but never both. Or how she'll cuddle up in the space _beside _me when she's tired, but never the space _against _me. Huh. I mean, not like I need to notice those things - I know them so well I could draw them from memory.
  2. If this _is _Kelley and I _do _swipe right?  
Then do we . . . talk about it? At camp - surrounded by all our loving but nosey af and drama-thirsty best friends?  
Or do we . . . _not _talk about it? At camp - where we always end up so damn tuned into each other that she can tell when Emma texts me a funny gif vs. just a weird gif, and where, one time last spring, I accurately forecasted to the day when she was gonna get her period based on mood and cravings alone?
  3. If this _is _Kelley and I _do _swipe right?  
Then does she join the little club of people (and, welp, by 'people' I mean exes) who've learned how I do intimacy? And especially, like, how I often _don't _do intimacy for a long time? That little club that's been so full of opinions and judgements about how my body and my feelings work, when I can't even really explain those things to myself.   
I'm petrified at the thought of her being in that club - of seeing on Kelley's dear face that look of confusion that I've learned by now to expect. The confusion that over time fades to disappointment and then (usually right as I’m finally getting comfortable and excited about the person) to apathy. Seeing that happen with her would break me. I don't really know if it's her I want to protect from that, or if it's me. But I do know that, if that happened, it would break my heart and then some.  
At the same time, I _desperately do _want her in that club. I'm thinking about how patient she was when I lost my voice after the World Cup and had to write everything on post-it notes for an entire day - how she wouldn't even read over my shoulder, just sit quiet with our conversation on pause until I finished writing. And I'm thinking about the time way back after my second cap when I was almost asleep next to her on the bus and she pulled me down into her lap and started playing with my hair, but when I shook my head and dragged myself back upright and scooted over until I was so close to her but not quite touching, how she didn't complain but just sat relaxed and perfectly close-but-not-too-close and matched her breathing to mine. And how ever since then she's always cuddled _beside_ me but never _on _me, even though she's one of the most touchy-feely people on the team.
  4. And if this _is_ Kelley, then what _exactly the_ _fuck_ have we been _doing_ for the last 4 years and 11 months?


	5. Emily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light TW for negative self-talk by a gray ace character about their dating history. This will get better over the course of the fic - Em just hasn't figured some stuff out yet. If the last 2 chapters felt ok, this one will probs be fine.

I didn't have the guts to do anything about it on day one of camp. Anything in either direction.

Kelley Thirst-Trap O'Hara - my numero uno mischief-making pal, willing dance troup participant, and (oh christ, oh lord, oh sorry mom for swearing) my longest standing and hottest burning crush - stays un-swiped on my Tinder.

Kelley Bitch-On-The-Pitch O'Hara - my backline mentor, locker room hype skills #goalsforever, my agility drills and bus seating partner, and beep test Enemy For All Time OMG Who Even IS That Speedy Freak - is her same self.

I may have imagined that she looked a little wide-eyed and panicky when I showed up that first night with the other late arrivals, half way through dinner. But she pulled up a chair for me between herself and Moe and passed the Tapatío without even asking.

After that, everything felt pretty much the same as always - the teasing, the texting each other from our hotel rooms, the slightly-too-long stares that always turned into weird faces competitions during warmed-up. (Sometimes Ashlyn could be persuaded to act as judge and declare the day's Weird Face Victor, but she's seemed pretty stressed this camp so, sadly, Carli shut us down.) The air kisses near my cheeks were exactly the same as usual, before our scrimmage and again that night as Kelley got off the elevator on the 4th floor and I stayed til the 5th.

Morning practice on day two is more of the same. Then sometime around 1pm I do a thing that's _deeply _not thought through, but from the outside would look extremely on purpose.

The whole stable of us athletes have been fed and watered and stashed away for some downtime at the hotel before afternoon strength training. Sammy is sacked out on her bed. I wouldn't mind doing the same, but I'm still on west coast time where it's almost 6pm and - obnoxiously - I'm hungry again. I text a couple people to see if anyone has good snacks, and then Kelley pops up in my messages.

**KO: **Broon said you STILL hungry??!?!? I have Byrd’s cookies  
  
**Sonny: **GA treats - u were home??  
  
**KO: **Quick trip

**Sonny: **Byrds gross me out. Bad southern gal, I know. Everything good in peachtree?  
  
**KO: **Weirdo. More for me. Yeah good! OMG I have a story...

The three dots bounce, then pause, then bounce again. I know there's some long anecdote coming about drama with the dog groomer or a bidding war at a tag sale or something, so I swipe away to do other things while she's typing.

I scroll Insta but I'm mostly caught up. Gmail has nothing I want to pay attention to. I open Tinder and swipe left on a gothy girl. Kelley's profile is next and I swipe right - god, she's so infinitely hot. It's not until the "match!" message pops that I realize what I've just done. 

My hands shake a little as I click back to my regular texts. Kelley's message has landed - sure enough, it's a shaggy dog story about about her sister becoming the accidental mediator of drama the neighborhood's NextDoor group.

The three dots bounce again. Maybe she hasn't noticed Tinder. Maybe she deleted Tinder and will never know (I start to pray for this, then stop, then try to pray to undo the first prayers, then end up just muttering "what the fuck, what the fuck, what the goddamn flipping fuck" over and over to myself).

**KO: **I have pecans

I'm about to jump on this revelation. (Seriously, she knows what I like, why she didn't she lead with the pecan info from the start like she should have is beyond me.) Then a chat notification pops up from Tinder. I abandon Kelley's text and click through to Tinder.  
  
**Kelley, 31: **Sooooo, hi

Fuck. Goddamn what the hell do I do now. This is either the worst moment of my life, or the very best - the adrenaline rush that just hit my whole body sure can't decide which it is.

**Emily, 25: **Hi friend

**Kelley, 31: **You come here often?

**Emily, 25: **Umm, this hotel? 

**Kelley, 31: **Dude  
  
**Kelley, 31: **Datings apps

I can't handle this. I for real cannot handle this. I click back to Insta, but there's nothing new. I do a desperate search for goldendoodles in a bid for mental distraction, but I did that yesterday while we were waiting to board the plane so there's hardly anything I haven't seen. I click back to my text messages.

**Sonny: **Kel, you know I'd do almost anything for pecans

Shit, shit _shit. _Did that sound like flirting? Did I just cross the streams somehow?

**KO: **Swap you for two days worth of clean socks. Forgot to do laundry at home

**Sonny: **Deal!!  
  
**Sonny: **And EWWWW u traveled with a suitcase of dirty clothes?

**KO: **Shutup, adulting is hard

Whew, I don't think I blew it. This feels like our normal banter. Maybe I can do this. I swipe back to Tinder and - oh fuck - suddenly things aren't normal at all, we're evidently just _not_ crossing the two streams.

**Kelley, 31: **I didn't know you for-sure dated women. Or dated at all.  
  
**Kelley, 31: **Pls don't take that wrong.

**Kelley, 31: **Just, if I'd known we would've had A Talk about that bikini from your photo, because your ass is 💯 Sonnett and boy shorts really don't do it justice.

**Kelley, 31: **Shit, I'm trying to be smooth here. 

**Kelley, 31: **Work with me 

**Kelley, 31: **Sonnett

**Kelley, 31: **Fuck

**Kelley, 31: **Sorry 😬

**Kelley, 31: **I'm really nervous and I don't want to fuck this up. Pls talk to me?

**Emily, 25: **I don't date

**Emily, 25: **I mean, I try but i always fuck it up

Great, Em, just great. Ignore her compliment and go right for the confessional and the pathetic weird stuff. I don't bring that into camp - into my soccer life - on purpose. This is the place where I'm competent and reliable and comfortable enough to be completely ridiculous with people. Why would I bring up how weird dating is to Kelley Amazing At Everything O'Hara? Why did I swipe right in the first place and bring dating into this at all? Why am I even on Tinder - it's obviously only good for hiking fanatics and setting years-long crush alight in a blaze of awkwardness and deep regret.

**Kelley, 31: **Fail, you must, to succeed.

**Emily, 25: **Thanks for that, yoda.

**Emily, 25: **I guess.

My regular messaging app pings again.  
  
**KO: **Allie and I are making a CVS run. Pecans outside your door in 5.

Fuck, I can't face her right now. _Cannot _face her. I tear through my suitcase, gather up two pairs of Trusox and and some regular athletic socks for crosstraining, set them in the hotel hallway, then close my door and shoot the deadbolt. I feel so guilty. She's about to feed me, and we fucking just talked to each other on _Tinder, _and not only did she not freak out she actually complemented my ass _and _gave me some weirdly good advice, but I can't look at her right now. My heart's still beating way too fast, and when I catch my reflection in the mirror I'm blushing so hard my chest is blotchy. However this goes, right now I absolutely cannot face Kelley O'Hara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an immensely frustrating work week, and then accidentally took too much of my calming tincture and also some whiskey, so then this happened. No apologies, no take-backs except for typos (so, tbh, infinite takebacks; I know my weaknesses).


	6. Kelley

Emily Sonnett dates women.

Get out the airhorns, people. EMILY SONNETT DATES. WOMEN.

When I first messaged her on Tinder yesterday I had no idea if this meant she was actually interested in dating _me _\- she was a little evasive about that whole part of it. But something must have changed today - when I check my phone after lunch with Alex there's basically a set of essay prompts waiting for me on Tinder.

****Emily, 25: ****So, say we got involved...

**Emily, 25: **What are you looking for?  
  
**Emily, 25: **And what do you like?

**Emily, 25: **In a girlfriend

**Emily, 25: **Or in a  
  
**Emily, 25: **In whatever you're looking for, here.

Well that's direct.

Not that I should have expected any different. This _is _Emily we're talking about. 

Emily, who in her rookie season on the national team told me my tackles weren't as effective when forwards were setting up on their left foot. (She wasn't wrong.)

Emily who, when we started rooming together, asked me why I was so chill one-on-one but so loud around the team . . . and I actually _told_ her, and after camp we ended up in a week-long texting conversation about family communication dynamics. Way later she sent me a podcast about sibling relationships (which I still listen to). And way later than that I mailed her a copy of my favorite self-help book about ambiverts (which she used a highlighter on and now sometimes quotes to me). 

Emily who looks hard at things.

Emily who loudly claims she's bad at feelings but is secretly wise AF.

Emily who doesn't pull punches.

I love/hate how it puts me on the spot every fucking time. I love/hate she asks me (tells me) things I hadn't noticed about myself. And I love/hate how she makes me _define _all this shit - how she'll keep asking until I find the words or, when words fail, I make up an interpretive dance out of desperation. It's fucking hard work.

I extra hate it now because I didn't think to ask her first.

Because, honestly, I'm kinda interested in being whatever she's looking for - whether she's got some dirty hookup fantasy, or if she wants something way at the other end of the spectrum with mushy talk and hard-core doting and pictures together on Insta (god, Alex and Allie would rag on me for that - and I can't even imagine how hard Lindsay would tease Em). Because this is Emily, and I can't think of a scenario where gettin' smooshy with her would every be, _could ever _be, in any way a let-down. So it kind of doesn't matter if we're talking about a one night stand or the start of something major - if it's Emily I'm here for it.

But, fuck, she asked first. Which means I either 1) tell her what I usually get up to on here, or 2) talk about what I'd _really _like in a relationship, or 3) tell her how I feel about her. Two of those are some major tipping-my hand.

Who am I kidding - even if I evade the question now she'd have me figured out by the end of camp anyway.


	7. Emily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note on plot:  
To the extent that I know where this story is going, imma say the theme here is Emily Describes What She Wants And Then She Gets It.  
Now I loooove me some angst. A bunch of brilliant riveting So'Hara writers (lookin' at you blake0tyler and softanticipation and katbastard and woso_19) are posting stories right now that are gratifyingly heavy on the relationship ambiguity and miscommunication. Much as I love plots that hinge on characters' emotional growth and change, I don't have the emotional fortitude to write one of those right now.  
This story's Kelley and Emily already know each other real damn well. They're gonna get comfy about communication real fast, and go from there.

They say the best defense is a good offense.   
  
Considering my career choice I shouldn't agree, but right now I totally do. Right now the ball I need to get out ahead of is what exactly Kelley is doing on Tinder. Because she's one of my best friends, and something about this whole thing, sudden as it is, has got me feeling like it would be so easy to fall for her. And that is _terrifying _even at the same time as it fills the corners of my chest with this warm gooey feeling. Not gooey-saccharine like maple syrup, more like warm cheesy artichoke dip that's comforting and satisfying and . . . fuck, I'm either in danger of falling in love or I'm getting hungry again. Thank goodness dinner's in 15 minutes.

My phone buzzes a Tinder notification. (_Already!)_ (_Finally!_) She's double-texted ...no, she's triple-text. Like she composed those suckers somewhere she could edit them, and then pasted them in. The overachiever.   
  
I mean, she probably _did _do that. I practically sent her essay questions.

Also, she's just heart-reacted all my questions. Oh, Kelley Jump In With Both Feet O'Hara - please never change.  
  
**Kelley, 31: **Taking your Qs in reverse order... 

****Kelley, 31: ****I mostly use Tinder for hookups. Am def open to those - lots of fun! Ultimately I'm looking for more, but in this job serious dating is hard af (at least for me - sounds like maybe similar for you?) TL;DR I'm flexible.

****Kelley, 31: ****What do I like...hmmm, that's kind of vague Em - not up to your usual nosey standards ;) I like girls. And I like being cozy and domestic or wild and adventurous. I like pina coladas . . .

Well shit. This is feeling vague as fuck right now. I thought I'd asked enough to give my emotions something to latch onto . . . to tell whether this might work for me or not. But now I'm even more at sea.

Then I see the three dots. They bounce, and bounce again. I almost text back something calling her out about being such a musical theater nerd, but I don't want us to slip into banter right now - the stakes feel too high. I click over to Insta and pull out the big guns (a search for #corgipuppy), and scroll and wait.  
  
****Kelley, 31: ****TBH Em, for some reason I thought you didn't date. But now that we're here I'm really REALLY interested. I'm open to whatev you want - hookup or fling or dating or no plan at all. What I'm interested in with you is YOU.  
  
**Kelley, 31: **You're an awesome friend. And I think you're a really amazing person. And it is just such a comfy fit whenever we're together. Em this might sound pathetic but I want you however you'll have me. And I'm not too worried about being sad or things being hard afterwards - honestly, something with you feels worth the risk.

Well that, as my twin would say, is a piece of information

Except that now that I _do _have enough information it's 1000 times worse. Because my biggest crush, one of my favorite people in the world is holding out her arms to me. And she thinks I can just walk into them.

I have to tell her. Because, much as I want things to be magically different because it's _her_, much as things _should _be magically different with _her_ if they are with anybody, all my relationships die the same grim death and I can't do that to her . . . I can't take this any farther without at least warning her.

**Emily, 25: **Thank you so much for telling me <3

****Emily, 25: ****I think you're amazing too.

**Emily, 25: **(((I've actually had a crush on you for a really long time.)))

****Emily, 25: ****I would give my right ankle to be together with you any of those ways, Kelley - omg.

**Kelley, 31: **DON'T SAY THAT - ANKLES ARE SACRED

**Emily, 25: **But we shouldn't. I don't want to fuck up with you the way I've fucked up with other people. I could never hurt you like that.

**Kelley, 31: **(((you have? WAIT, YOU HAVE????)))

**Kelley, 31: **Fucked up how?

And, oh god, here we go.


	8. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note about Emily's gray ace-ness:  
One of my lovely readers asked a while ago how Emily will disclose how she works to Kelley. The interesting/tough part here is that Emily doesn't know that ace spectrum is a thing (remember Caitlin and Ellie trying to tell her in chapter 3 - so near yet so far). So there will be plenty of discussion of it, but no coherent Gray Ace Practice and Praxis In Identity Among Female Pro Athletes. (And yes, I will write your dissertation title for you if you ask nicely.) As far as Emily knows the exact mechanisms of WHY/HOW she works (her ace-ness) isn't actually a Thing - she ascribes most of the effect of it to WHAT/WHO didn't work in her previous relationships (mismatches she defines as failures and ascribes to herself).  
That said, things are about to get WAY better for Emily because 1) she already has trust/vulnerability/comfort dialed in with Kelley from their long friendship, and 2) Kelley will do almost anything for her girl.
> 
> ...in case it's not painfully clear from the unneedful number of long words I'm using, I'm a little drunk right now. So this chapter will be INTERESTING. Here we go!

**Kelley, 31:** Fucked up how?

I have to ask. I hate to press her, but I have to know.

I basically just unzipped my chest and showed my heart to the person I didn't even know I was waiting for until yesterday. And she told me she's had a crush on me (what? Excuse me _WHAT!?!?_) and that I should zip that fucker back up and stop flashing my organs.

**Emily, 25: **Bear with me. I don't explain this very well.  
  
**Kelley, 31: **Em should we be talking about this in person?

**Emily, 25: **I'd rather not. This all doesn't feel real yet. It would be easiest if it stayed that way - in case we decide not to do anything.

**Emily, 25: **That ok with you?  
  
I see her point. At the same time, this is already feeling fucking real enough that my palms are sweating for whatever she's about to tell me.  
  
**Kelley, 31: **Yeah, ok <3  
  
The three dots bounce. God, she must have been waiting like this while I was texting my heart out a few minutes ago. On this side it's hellish. I keep watching the dots, counting the seconds before they move again. I know I should go do something else, but I can't. Finally, _finally _her explanation starts coming through and . . . oh Emily, oh babe.

**Emily, 25: **So, prior data suggests I'm a disappointing person to be in a relationship with. 

**Emily, 25: **Sex stuff works kinda weird for me.

**Emily, 25: **I can't truly get into having sex with someone until I know them really well. Like, what do they look like when they're crying, and how do they apologize after an argument levels of well. I don't need to be in love, but I need to know that I could fall in love.

**Emily, 25: **Realizing now that I wrote all that, you and I have pretty much done most of that already.

**Emily, 25: **Kel I really don't want to disappoint you. I need to tell you now it might be a really long time. I've just gotten...stuck before. With girlfriends. Like, there's potential but we can't open up to each other enough to move forward.

**Emily, 25: **I think most people do the sex and the intimacy the other way around. I don't. I've tried so hard. I just don't.

**Kelley, 31: **So you need to establish two-way emotional trust before you get physical?

**Emily: 25: **Well geez, THAT was concise :p  
  
**Emily, 25: **Yeah. What you said is pretty much it.

**Kelley, 31: **So what do your feelings need? For you to be turned on with someone?

**Emily, 25:** Fuck, fuckfuck we're gonna miss dinner

**Kelley, 31: **Well that's certainly not the answer I was expecting :p

**Emily, 25: **Shutup. Talk here after?

**Kelley, 31: **Ok <3  
  
**Emily, 25: **<3

I think we both must have looked shellshocked over dinner. Allie snagged me to sit with her an Alex as soon as I'd filled my plate, and between them they must have asked 5 times if I was alright. Emily came in with Rose and Lindsay and Sam and ended up at a table across the room. She looked as if someone had just told her Harry Potter dies at the end - all wide eyes and delayed reactions. I wanted to go over there and sit by her and tell her that everything in the whole world would be alright. I wanted her doing that for me, too. Instead we swapped raised worry-eyebrows and little reassuring smiles until Alex elbowed me and said:

"Geez KO, stop mooning over Sonnett and pay attention to us. You see her on the bus every single day." 

I focused a bit better after that, but I did let myself save the strawberries from my salad. And when Allie and Alex left I did slide over to Emily and line them up carefully, one by one, along the edge of her plate, making a show of it, until everybody else at the table was giggling and I could tell from how Emily's cheeks rounded that she was grinning as she stared down at the table.


	9. Kelley

I've hardly had time to get back to my room and change in PJs before a text message pings.

**Sonny: **Soooo it sure feels like we're doing this

**KO****: **??

**Sonny: **Gonna move this convo off Tinder. It feels like we're going to...

**Sonny: **Like something is about to...

**KO: **Yeah

**KO****:** It does.

Allie is giving me a weird look. This whole thing with Emily feels so intense, I'm sure I'm hunching or breathing weird or something - some tell that Allie will pinpoint and chortle over later, claiming that she knew that A Thing was up all along.

**Sonny: **Thanks for the strawbs. I love them.

**KO: **You're welcome.

**KO: **I know you do.

**Sonny: **I'm kinda scared. Talking about all this. Is that weird?

**KO: **Fuck, I am SO scared. And so excited. Like, my feelings all showed up, but they don't know what to feel.

**Sonny: **omg yeah that

****KO:** **So what turns your feelings on?

**Sonny: **Shit Kels. Cut to the chase much?

**KO: **Dude. If we're doing this...

Allie gives me another sharp look. There's no way I'm going to be able to keep a poker face for what's coming next. I give her some elaborate excuse mostly made of shrugs and vowel noises, and slip out. There's a window seat 3 floors up, at the end of a long quiet hallway. I take the stairs. 

By the time I've tucked myself onto the deep bench and pulled the curtains across so I'm in my own little cave, my phone has dinged more times than I can track.

****Sonny: ** **Ok, doing this.

**Sonny: **Fuck

**Sonny: **I feel, like, naked or something. Talking about this.

**Sonny: **Ok, the stuff that gets me comfy and gets me going...

**Sonny: **Go slow.

****Sonny: ****Pay attention to how I'm reacting to stuff. Notice when I've had enough.

**Sonny: **Like, check in and talk and stuff, but more than that just pay attention to whether I'm into it or not.

****Sonny: ** **Like I said, it takes me a while to get comfy with physical stuff. While I'm still getting used to someone. Sometimes, like, having my wrist stroked for a few minutes or something is enough for me at the start. 

****Sonny: ** **Just pay attention to my boundaries, I guess. I've gotten good at enforcing them but it makes me so tired - having to do that all the time.

****KO:** **People don't pay attention to your boundaries?

****KO:** **God, Em, now I wanna set a timer for 2 min and stroke your wrist, and make those the best two minutes ever, and then Completely Fucking Stop on purpose. Just so you can get your boundaries the attention they deserve. Boundaries need love just like any other part of you.

There's a pause like she's digesting. I don't _think_ I overstepped, but I force myself not to follow up - instead, just giving her space.

****Sonny: ****Srsly out of words

****Sonny: ****That actually sounds amazing

****Sonny: ****I know that was just an example, but tbh nobody's ever done anything like that for me. Maybe I should've stopped trying to date people my age - it's all everythingrightnowallthetime

****KO:** **God, 25 year olds are assholes

****Sonny: ****31 year olds are better?

****KO:** **No

****KO:** **Wanna meet up?

I don't know what possesses me (we were just talking about not pushing boundaries) but I ask anyway.

My knees are a little shaky just from thinking about all this.

Before, I wanted to touch her for the gratification of it. To get her sweaty, to goad some reaction or sound out of her, to run my tongue across those abs.

But now I want to touch her to show her that the world isn't ALL assholes. I want to touch her for two minutes and savor those minutes like a cheat day in a world cup summer. I want one tiny taste - one skim of the skin of her wrist, one sigh of her exhale'd breath - and then wrap her back up like a cookie I'm saving, give her all the agency and time and control she needs, because this is Emily Sonnett we're talking about. And - god knows - when it's Emily I'll still be here tomorrow. I'll be here for all the tomorrows.

****KO:** **I'm in this really cozy window seat on the 7th floor.

****KO:** **Absolutely no pressure. For real. I do keep thinking how amazing it would be to stroke your wrist tho

****Sonny**: **You're unreal

**Sonny: **Have you always been like this?

**Sonny: **What I mean is, why haven't we been doing this already?

**Sonny: **5 min

I stick my feet (in a pair of her Adidas socks) outside the curtains for her to spot. Waiting in the quiet I can hear my own pulse. Everything feels elevated. Meeting her like this - as the selves we uncovered on Tinder - it feels like everything has changed even though nothing is different. I'm desperate to see her, desperate to touch her (just a little), and also weirdly tense. By the time the elevator dings I can tell that my breathing has sped up a little. There's only 20 minutes until curfew. 

She doesn't pull back the curtain, but slips around it and pulls it closed behind her. I pull my legs in - cautious of touching her, like always. We settle cross-legged and facing each other, and then she leans forward - her bare kneecaps pressing into mine. I feel my breath speed all over again. That warm skin, maybe 4 square inches total, I'm giving it as much attention as times in the past when I've had a partner naked on top of me - the meaning squeezed into that little space almost takes my breath away.

The thing that does take my breath away is how she's looking at me. There's an openness and candor in her hazel-gray eyes that I swear I've never seen before. I'm so used to how guarded she is - layered down deep like an onion under all the bravado and extroversion. But she's _ here _ in some much more vivid and present way than I was prepared for.

Emily smiles. And then she props her arm, wrist up, across my thigh.

I smile back and set my phone for 2 minutes.

I've never noticed veins before, like this. Their steady live pulse and the way they're almost bouncy - pushing back to the slightest pressure. Emily's wrist is a tracework of blue beneath her pale skin. I follow the pattern, then the negative space in between, then run my fingertip crosswise, bumping over each vein and tendon in turn. Finally I rest my fingertip at the base of her palm and look up.

Her irises are blown wide and black, face serene. Her openness and presence make me feel like I'm falling into her.

My phone alarm goes off. Before I can move she's silenced it with her free hand.

"Emily..." I whisper, not sure what's coming next.

"Kelley." She answers. "Kelley, you're a wonder."

She takes the hand that was at her wrist and brings it to her face, guiding my fingertip to stroke the curve of her cheek, the ridge of her nose. As my fingertip comes to rest in her smile line she gives a full body shudder. My body matches mindlessly, the energy of the moment running through me. As we both calm Emily starts beaming. It's a quieter version of the smile I know from the field - from games where she's gotten minutes and we've won.

"I am totally jumping ahead here." she murmurs, then tilts her head and kisses my palm.

I'm shaking. I'm so attuned to her right now, I can feel the slight roughness of her lips against my lifting calluses. I can feel the light puffs of her breath over my palm. I can feel how her hand is cradling mine - warm and dry and solid. And I can feel the tiniest trace of moisture at the center of her lips. She pulls away a centimeter and that tiny dash of damp is suddenly cold from her breath. It feels overwhelmingly intimate - that some inside part of Emily rested against some part of me - it's not making the shaking any less, but I wouldn't change a thing.

"Are you ok Kel?" she asks when she looks up.

I nod fast.

"This is just - it's just so intense. I never dreamed . . . " words evade me again.

"Me either. I never get to take my time." She gives my hand back, clasps hers loosely in her lap.

"Speaking of time" I say - it's the last thing I want to bring up, but I sure as fuck don't want us to get in trouble over curfew - I don't want anything bade to come of this precious, delicate new thing.


	10. Emily

I'm on my flight back to Portland, tired and happy, and wearing an UnderArmor hoodie that my new girlfriend (!!!) loaned me, before I realize that we haven't kissed yet.

Somehow everything has changed in the last 6 days, but - at the bedrock level - nothing's different at all. Every in-joke, every angle of her shoulders, every little familiarity accumulated over almost-five years is still there. But it's as if the light on it is different. Seeing it all - being able to read her and know already that she'll catch me whenever she can and will step away for a break if she needs to - is making me more comfortable than I ever knew I could be.

I should be terrified right now - getting involved with my coworker, my highest stakes crush, my friend. Heck _dating at all _with my track record. I should feel like I have everything to lose. Instead it's all serene.

The 7th floor windowseat became Our Place that week. Every evening after dinner we would retreat - getting a few looks but not much ribbing from our teammates. In the grind from spring of World Cup year through to the Olympics the team saw enough of each other that a few evenings weren't a big deal.

I did away with her whole phone-timer thing on night 2. That first tentative, breathless evening it had been perfect. But now I_ wanted _time. Our second night I pulled one of her feet into my lap, eased off her (*ahem* _actually my_) sock, and dug a thumb into the arch of her foot - tentative at first, until she gave a groan and nodded and pulled my foot towards her to reciprocate.

"What do you like about dating?" I asked.

"Mmm." she considered for a bit, hands moving steadily against her instep. "I like the running jokes. Little habits together. The together-stuff that builds up over time."

"Sort of like we have with the team?"

Kelley nodded. "Kind of. Usually quieter though."

"That sounds like it's part of the whole social-extrovert thing we used to talk about a lot."

"Yeah, probably. In relationships it's like this little subculture of two. It's so cozy. Have you had that?"

"I'm not sure." 

She watched me, eyes warm and calm, the silence easy between us while I thought.

"Not romantically, lately." I said finally. "Lindsay and I do some of that, but feelings don't really come into it."

I hesitated a little before deciding to go on, "I think I had that in college. I was pretty much in love with my best friend - she didn't shut me down, even though I'm pretty sure she knew I wasn't it for her. We were close as fuck though."

Kelley made a noise, somewhere between acknowledgement and sympathy, cradling my foot as she pet my toes. The topic settled between us - more to unpack later, but not tonight. I watched her hands for a while, fingers nimble, little muscles popping out in her forearms.

She worked around to the top of my foot, stroking long lines up toward my ankle before picking up my original question again. "I like being being payed attention to."

I couldn't help but giggle. "We all already knew _that _Kelley."

"Yeah yeah." She dug into my foot - revenge that came out as positive reinforcement instead, it felt so good. "But like, softer attention. Texting to say goodnight kind of attention. And making each other coffee kind of attention. Folding their laundry, knowing they're watching my games."

"So, more like mutual attention?"

"Mm, yeah I guess." She made a face, like she hadn't thought of it that way before.

Thinking about it now from cruising altitude, I realize I've known this about her for years - the way she loves to coddle her friends with food or cuddling, how she'll brings all the pillows from her room to wherever the movie night is happening, how her happy-go-lucky demeanor is belied by her soccer bag full of kleenex and ibuprofen and tampons and single-use handwarmers (she's always loudly protested the title of Team Mom saying we already had enough of those, but she let me call her Team Weird Aunt for the better part of a year without once shutting me down).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere this story turned a corner from exorcizing my Tinder demons to being some sort of aspirational imaginings of partnership. This is why fiction, I suppose.
> 
> Your comments are so kind and so amazing. Thank you for letting me know that you're as invested in these two as I am <3  



	11. Emily

In our windowseat hideaway on the last night of camp, I pull Kelley into me, her back to my front and my chin on her shoulder.

We've been looking at each other the past few nights. Careful body contact too, but so much looking. I thought I knew what she looked like before - the exact shade of her eyes, the way she swung her hair back over her shoulders - but my index of Kelley Things has at least doubled now. Now I have the faraway expression when she's trying to put words to a feeling, her little jerky nod when what I'm saying starts to make sense, her wide eyes and hesitant joy that go with the dry velvet feel of her fingertips against my wrist.

She's been letting me take the lead on touch. A question here and there, but it's felt as easy and seamless as everything else. On the field, Kelley is always testing for how far she can push things. She toes the line and just a half-step over - fouls, yellow cards, expletives yelled not muttered. But here she hasn't pushed at all. And weird as it feels to be the one steering everything (and much as I crave it being mutual and just _fucking straightforward _one day) I know for now it's simpler this way.

So I pull her close and feel her sigh as she melts against me.

"You'll be in Salt Lake in ten days so the Royals can beat you, right?" 

I laugh. "I'll be in Salt Lake for my three away-game points. Definitely."

She joins me in giggling. I like how relaxed she is against me. I wrap my arms around her. With people in the past this much contact has felt like too much too soon. But she stays soft and lax in my arms and everything feels fine . . . more than fine, it feels just right. The gratitude and relief I've been feeling all week wells up again. Knowing her so well has made this all feel so natural. And the way she's met me without pushing is reassuring and weirdly easy. I know I'll analyze it to death once I'm home, but for now I tuck the wonder and the gratitude away and focus on just how nice it feels to hold her.

"Em?" 

"Mm, yeah?" I surface from my thoughts.

"I'd like to invite you to stay with me when you're in Salt Lake. Would you be comfortable with that?"

"You're asking me to stay with you?"

"No. I'm asking _if _I can ask you."

I can't help but giggle a little - bemused and charmed. "Yeah, I'm comfy with you asking me that."

Her fingertips find the back of my hand. Not stroking, just resting.

"Would you like to stay at my place while you're in Salt Lake? No pressure on physical or romantic stuff. I just really _really _like being around you."

"I'd love to stay with you." It feels weirdly formal. Formal_izing_, I realize. Formal_ization_ of a something. Of _our _something.

"Kel?"

"Yeah?"

"I really like being around you too. I'd really like to keep doing this together - seeing where this could go. If you wanted to."

She turns a little at that, eyes glinting in the dim light. "This . . . being together?"

I nod. I'm 98% certain we're on the same page here, but there's still something cold and hollow waiting in my chest, waiting to open up like a cavern if I got this wrong.

"Being together with you feels so good Em. I'm here for it." She smiles.

My chest feels warm again. Bubbly. Almost too light, too sweet. I search for a joke to bring me back down. "I should warn you though Kel, I fold my t-shirs really weird. If you, ya'know, ever end up folding my laundry like you talked about."

She sighs dramatically. "Of _course _you have weird laundry things - I should have seen that coming." I love how she plays right into me - this stuff has always been so easy with her.

"It's a Sonnett family thing - the blame's not all on me. You'll laugh so hard when you see how Emma folds hers." 

I want to kick myself - circling around from perfectly good banter to what was basically a promise to introduce her to a member of my family. But she somehow cruises right through.

"Science has found that it's not all nature _or _nurture, Emily. Behavior change is possible - I believe in you." She tilts her head back with a fond smile. "Or you could just teach me how to do your weird laundry things. I wouldn't mind."

"Well, I guess if we're together-ing I should probably teach that at some point. You're already pretty good at basic Care and Feeding of Emily, but I'm sure there's some other details to fill in. The together-people kind of stuff. I'll start a spreadsheet or something."

We're both giggling now, loose and fond and so, so easy.

"I do believe the commonly used term is 'girlfriends', but we can stick with 'together-people' if you want."

I don't have anything to say to that.

For the first time, I wonder if we're moving too fast.

She picks up my hands, weaving our fingers together - one of the rare times she's initiated touch. Instead of feeling like an intrusion it grounds me.

Four years and eleven months. 

Nearly five years since I tucked my O'Hara jersey deep in a drawer and packed for my rookie USWNT camp, knowing I'd meet her.

Nearly five years during which, if I'd been asked who I'd most like to date, I probably would have given her name.

I squeeze her hands and say "girlfriends".

We miss curfew that night, conversation drifting until eventually she dozes in my arms - instinctively tilting her face towards me in sleep until I can feel her breath against my throat. I listen to her slow breathing and press kisses against her hair. I end up waking her up when I feel myself about to drowse. Air travel is hard enough on both our bodies, without sleeping sitting up the night before.

We take the stairs, Kelley reaching for my hand and clinging a bit as we get closer to my floor. 

"I don't want to say goodbye." she says, when we reach the 5th floor landing. I nod, wishing there was a way we could keep our windowseat evenings from three states away.

"Here" I finally say, "until Salt Lake." I fish my bandana out of my pocket (what? I'm a good queer) and tuck it into her hand. It was a freebie from some event, but she's seen me with it for years and knows it's my favorite - big and soft with a map of Portland printed on it. She smiles and mutters "yeah" and next thing I know she's slipped off her sweatshirt and is holding it for me - body-warmed and smelling of her shampoo.

"I know you can't wear it out if it's not Adidas." she says. "And we'll probably catch some mega shit from the team" she gives a rueful smile.

"I don't care." I interrupt her, "and it can cuddle me. Until you can."

She just says "yeah" again, even softer this time. I can feel that I'm about to ask to sleep next to her tonight. I'm not sure that I'm ready for that - and I sure as hell _know _I can't do that for the first time with Allie in the next bed. So I just murmur "I'll see you soon" and kiss her fingers before I step away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Em's bandana is a real - it has the Portland bike-routes map printed on it.


	12. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up lovely readers: from here on out, most chapters will travel to SMUT TOWN.

Emily's mouth is like liquid fire - open and hungry over mine, tongue sliding and eager. I break away after a minute, gasping. She finds my hand and laces our fingers and we watch each other as we catch our breath.

She landed in Salt Lake 48 hours ago. 45 hours ago we cuddled in bed for the first time, and 38 hours ago in the gray morning light she pressed me against my dresser with a soft "hi there" and kissed me - soft and minty.

Since then, you could say things have escalated.

My breath is back and my attention keeps drifting to her lips. I'd thought I'd at least be able to get us to the couch - to finally sit after both playing 90 minutes, and to savor this last night together before she flies back to Portland. But we haven't gotten any farther than the entryway; the novelty of being this close to her still distracts me completely.

I lean forward this time and she meets me, pressing me back into the wall with the pressure of her mouth. 

I've learned this in the last 38 hours: when Emily Sonnett commits to something she is all in. As she runs her tongue over my teeth I can hear my own little uneven gasping sighs - I capture her tongue and suck hard, feeling it flex in my mouth as she leans closer. I'm wet. God, I'm so wet. I need more even though I'm totally overwhelmed by just this.

The next time we break apart I ask: "I'm really wanting some, um, friction. Could I rub against your thigh while we keep kissing?"

She syncs her breathing to mine, keeping us so close while she takes a pause to consider.

"Mm, I'm not quite there yet. Sorry." She looks suddenly guarded - I know this is a place relationships have broken down for her in the past.

"Oh please don't apologize, Em! I just . . . strong urge to get some attention there. Figured I'd put on my big girl communication panties and ask."

She smiles a little - I mentally give myself a gold star for my phrasing. "I can't wait to take care of you like that. I'm looking forward to it so much - I'm just not there quite yet." 

She brightened, hesitated for a moment, then continued: "Maybe you could touch yourself. While we kiss. Would that feel good?"

"Shit!" I can't hold it back, running my thumb over her fingernails and taking a minute to think. She rests her forehead against the wall by me, matching her breath to mine again almost automatically. I love these still moments.

"Um" I'm never smooth with this stuff "that feel, like, right at the edge for me. Like, I suddenly understand more of how it is for you, assessing whether something's comfortable yet or not."

She pulls sharply away from the wall to look at me, eyes so pretty even when they're concerned and searching like this. "Oh babe, I didn't mean to push."

"No, it's ok. Like I said it's right on the edge but, um, that actually sounds really hot?"

She grins at me - a little excited seeming, a little pleased.

"Um, Em?" I continue. I have no idea how this'll go down, but it would be rude not to let her know. "I'd probably cum. Kissing you is getting me so . . . I don't mean to make myself the focus of the party, just . . . with you kissing me like this it'll probably happen."

Her grin is wolfish now, a quick glimpse before she's pressing kisses and whispers against my throat: "Fuck yes, that is _so_ hot. Please, please . . . put your hand down your pants and kiss me so you cum. My god, how are you so perfect? I can't wait to hear you . . . "

"Oh fuck" is all I can get out before we're crashing our mouths together again. I suck her bottom lip between my teeth, running my tongue over and over the slick inside. Her hands are at my waistband and . . . holy christ on a cracker, _ Emily Sonnett is unzipping my jeans and holding my panties away from my body. She is guiding my hand down. _I don't come from that alone, but it's a near thing. 

Then both her hands are cupping my face, fingertips digging a little, anchoring us together. She's opened both our mouths and slotted hers against me at a deep angle - I feel as if I'm half inside her mouth right now, and being sucked deeper.

As my fingers slide inside my slick underwear to my clit I can't help moaning into her mouth. She gives some satisfied kind of growl in return, sucking hard on my tongue until I can feel the back surface of her teeth. I start rubbing myself in quick circles, the sounds I'm making vibrating between us as the jolts of arousal start to lick up my spine.

She pulls away, gasping, and stares at how my hand is moving inside my pants, slowly dragging her eyes up to my wet mouth.

"You're so sexy Kelley. I wanna hear you come. I wanna help you come." she says, before setting her mouth against mine again and leaning hard against me so that her body (oh god, her warm lithe strong body) is pressed against me - my arm crushed between our bodies so both of us can feel the rhythm of me working my clit.

It feels like she's all over me, overtaking me. I wish I had the right angle to slide fingers in, but instead I go faster, feeling her say "mm-hm" into my mouth as that liquid fire takes over everything and I unravel in her arms.


	13. Emily

I haven't heard from Kelley since we kissed goodbye this morning.

Since landing at PDX I've restrained myself to two texts, both the kind of jokey stuff I've sent her for years - I don't want to pressure her.

Maybe this is where the friendship starts to break? Or maybe I was an asshole about something without noticing? Or maybe we're moving too slow and this isn't going to work for her after all?

Kissing her - feeling so _comfortable _right away kissing her - felt huge to me. And I really thought it felt the same for her. Learning the taste of her mouth and the rhythm of her kisses, the way her fingers dig in hard when I suck on her tongue, and the sounds . . . _those sounds _she makes. And her getting off - oh my _god oh my _god oh my god. In her damn hallway after the game, and then again this morning - resting my fingers along the back of her working hand to learn what kind of touch she likes, watching her pretty face as she worked herself up, hearing how her breathing changed and - oh god so good - the way she pulled me in close for kisses after she came.

As we said goodbye this morning there were a hundred reasons I wanted to stay. And (weirdly for me) a whole bunch of those were physical. (That's never been so definitive for me before. A bunch of my weird sex and intimacy, the stuff that's so true about me and that I warned her about, just isn't happening with her. And I have no idea why. I'm trying to go with it, but honestly I'm perplexed AF.)

But now she's gone radio silence.

I don't know what to think. She had recovery practice about the same time as the Thorns' flight back, but that was hours ago - now the late summer light is shading into evening.

The relief that washes through me when my phone finally vibrates and shows her name . . . welp, that reverses into ice water when I read her message.

**KO: **I'm sorry. I'm having a really hard time with this.

So this is it.

I set my phone facedown on the sofa.

I make the circuit of my apartment - turning off the TV, putting leftovers in the fridge, turning off lights. Whatever is about to happen, I'm not sure I'll be in shape to adult after. (Also, I need to burn as much time as I can right now before I face it. If Kelley and I are about to be over, then you bet your ass I'm gonna stretch out these last minutes of being her girlfriend. Even it it means I'm rinsing my dishes before putting them in the dish washer - I _never _rinse dishes.)

I get myself a glass of water and a fresh roll of toilet paper, and take them into my bedroom. (So I forgot to buy tissues - I didn't think I had any crying jags scheduled, ok?)

I change into my least-comfortable sleep shirt (if Kelley is about to break up with me, I don't want those memories associated with my favorite PJs).

I pull the quilt off my bed, and curl up in it on the floor by the window - view of the evening city lights and Mt Hood still brushed with sun.

I unlock my phone and open the new messages she sent while was getting ready to lose her.

**KO: **I usually never get clingy.

**KO: **But omg Em I miss you so much and ever since this morning all I can think is how fucked up and silly it is that I'm not still holding you right now. 

**KO: **You have a LIFE and so do I and OF COURSE you had to leave. That's normal. I just...I've never got torn up like this before, and I feel all weak and clingy and I don't know wtf is wrong with me

**KO:** I'm sorry I didn't text you today. I couldn't do light hearted and jokey. I'm sorry.

There are no bouncing ellipses - it looks like she's said her piece.

I stare at the mountain for a minute, recalibrating. Holy fuck. We're a couple weeks and one weekend of kisses into this, and I was SO not ready to lose her. The relief that floods me comes with some fear of how _deep i__n this_ I already am - how completely she could have wrecked me, in just one day.

**Sonny: **hi

**KO: **HI HI I MISS YOU SO MUCH HOW DOES THIS WORK HELP HI

**Sonny: **wow - um hi

A couple minutes pass. Just the summit of Mt Hood still has sun on it. I don't know how to broach what those ten minutes felt like, when I thought I'd lost her. But I know I'm gonna be stuck on them until I do.

**KO: **Realizing I just feelingsed at you a lot. 

**Sonny: **Yeah

**Sonny: **Sry um

**Sonny: **I wasn't sure what to think. Not hearing from you all day, and then your first text up there . . . thought you were breaking up w me

**KO: **OH SHIT EM NO

**KO: **Fuuuuck, my phrasing up there was REALLY poor. I'm so sorry.

**Sonny: **We're ok?

**KO: **We are WAY more than ok. I adore you.

**KO: **Are YOU ok? I'm so sorry babe.

**Sonny: **I think so. Honest mistake, so no sweat. That sucked tho

**KO: **For sure. Oh, babe. I wish I could hold you right now.

**Sonny: **Me too. I missed you too. So much. Like being hungry all the time, but not for food. Wore your sweatshirt under my thorns jacket all day.

**KO: **I didn't text because I didn't want to be a downer. I was just so fucking sad after you left - I freaked 

**Sonny: **You can be sad with me

The three dots bounce for a minute, go away, then bounce again. I'm smiling by this point (even though still feeling hella shaky), watching those dots as she thinks through whatever's next.

**KO: **That sounds hard. Could we practice first or something? 

My god, this woman. This heart-first tough-bitch of a weird sweet woman.

**Sonny: **Yeah Kel, we can practice having a sad together. I'll still respect you in the morning ;)

**KO: **:p

The conversation goes on to other things, we decide to both read His Dark Materials because it's coming to HBO and Sammy insists the books will always be best. I complain a bit about trying to do recovery on travel days and it turns out the Royals don't have that dialed in either - we agree that the league needs guidelines for it. I tease her about how she was wearing my bandana as a headband my first day in Salt Lake.

**KO: **I think part of today being so hard was that it's like you were never here. It's sort of whiplash - going from being right next to you to not really having anything tangible to even prove to myself that we're real. 

**Sonny:** Dude. Kels. WTF did you DO today?

**KO: **I mostly felt feels and freaked out about them. Don't tease me.

**Sonny: **I mean, what did you do with your TIME.

**KO: **Oh! I went to recovery early, and then I took a drive and sat by the lake and thought a lot and wished you were with me, and then I went to the farmers market and bought greens and wished you were with me, and then I did some sets in my building's gym (((shhh it's not overtraining its managing the Feelings Weasels)))

**Sonny: **Soooo I think you'll feel better once you get ready for bed.

**KO: **???

**Sonny: **I'm going afk for a bit. Srsly get ready for bed <3

I force myself to lock my phone and set it down. It's completely dark out by now so I wander around for a little while - turning on the bedside lamp, spreading my quilt out on the bed again, washing my face. I'm in the kitchen when I hear my phone vibrate with an incoming text. I smile and make myself finish spreading almond butter onto apple slices before I check it.

**KO: **You gorgeous bastard I'm reading the mash note you wrapped around my toothbrush and I'm totally not crying. You're wonderful.

**KO: **EMILY DID YOU KNOW THESE ARE MY FAVORITES OF YOURS

**KO: **Thank you <3 Em, thank you. This probs sounds weird but . . . this helps SO much.

**Sonny: **<3

The next morning I wake up to two texts. One is keyboard mashing ending with a kiss emoji, and the other is a selfie - she's wearing my pink sweatshirt with the collar of my blue plaid poking out a little. She must have just gotten up to ice her ankle, because she has bedhead and that sleepysoft morning smile I just learned about three days ago, and because the other note I left her - the one I taped to an ice pack in her freezer - is clutched in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments = life. I adore your investment in this story and these two feelings-full cuties.
> 
> I have a tumblr again! I use it rarely and badly, but come capslock at me about Sohara! @run-of-play


	14. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads-up that I made some slight rewrites to Chapter 13 just now, so if you read it when I posted it last night you might want to go back for a reread.  
Nothing plot-impactful (if we even have a plot here). But when I reread it this morning I realized Em was going right into support mode for Kelley without them taking care of that whole thing where she thought KO was breaking up with her. Took advantage of this being fiction instead of real life, and fixed that.

Even though Utah is an hour ahead, the Thorns practice earlier. So for the last month I pretty much always come off the field to a phone full of texts. I reciprocate before practice of course, but some mornings all Em gets are step-by-step selfies of my coffee-making process; I'm not so much of a morning person. (It's fine though - Emily could tease me about my bedhead and weird morning word choice pretty much forever and I'd be down with it.)

This morning she's blown up my phone with capslock on.

****Sonny: ****Morning cutiepie! Ugh stop sending me selfies in bed (no never stop) I wanna be snuggling you so bad! 

**Sonny: **I hope you have an awesome practice <3 Going for coffee w Caitlin and Ellie after ours

**Sonny: **KEL I JUST FOUND A THING. HOLY SHIT.

**Sonny: **BRAINSPLODING

**Sonny: **Have you heard the terms Gray Asexual? or Demisexual?

**Sonny: **afk - must ask the internet things

**Sonny: **HOLY SHIT KEL IT'S NOT JUST ME.

****Sonny: ****THERE'S A NAME FOR THIS. IT'S KINDA NORMAL AND COMMON AND STUFF.

**Sonny: **KELLEY I'M NOT BROKEN I JUST HAVE DIFFERENT SETTINGS

**Sonny: **So apparently Gray Asexual (which Caitlin's been trying to tell me about for literally a year) is this whole spectrum between being asexual and being sexual (almost typed "normal" there, but that's prob a really bad generalization). And within that are all these different definitions. And Demisexual is I think is the first one? And it's . . . well it's me. The internet said demisexual ppl are usually into being sexual once there's a strong intimacy or intellectual bond (KELLEY LOOK AT OUR BIG BRAINY INTELLECTUAL BOND - ITS SO SEXY) and also it's really common and simpler to date ppl who were already friends.

**Sonny: **KELLEY THIS IS WHYYYYYY

****Sonny: ****THIS IS WHY SO MANY THINGS

**Sonny: **IM NOT BROKEN

**Sonny: **AND ALSO, THIS IS WHY I WASN'T MY NORMAL-WEIRD WITH YOU. IT FELT SO EASY WITH YOU RIGHT FROM THE START AND I DIDNT UNDERSTAAAND

I want to text her back as soon as I reach the end, but instead I spend a couple minutes on Google while I finish the walk to my car. As I can read, I can imagine the feeling of context clicking into place for her. I wish I'd been there for it - the excitement and relief being a _defined something_, of being part of a recognized pattern rather than an anomaly. 

We usually stay with text during the day and reserve facetime for nights when we can fall asleep talking, because we learned the hard way it takes us forever to say goodbye when we can see each other. But today I'm hitting the call button as soon as I'm in my car.

Her face is glowing and her eyes are a bit wide when she picks up.

"Hi sweetie" I feel myself grinning as I say it. "You found a thing."

"Holy fuck, I found the biggest thing!" she says, smiling back. "Did how I described it make sense? Um, what'd you think?" 

She shifts a bit on her couch. I can see nerves layered under her excitement.

"Yeah" I reassure her, "I read your thing and I looked online a bit and it makes total sense. I'm so glad for you Em. And I'm glad for us - I think having a definition might make things a little easier maybe? Mostly for you?"

"Yeah" there's relief in her face now. "I think so. Like there's a manual or something."

I don't mean to interrupt her, but I can't help but laugh. "You know they say not to keep owners manuals for appliances because they're all posted on the internet? Your owners manual was on the internal all along, Emily!"

She has the sweetest face. As our laughter subsides and she sighs a little I want nothing more than to nestle my thumb into her smile lines and kiss the freckles on her nose. I could look at her for hours.

"I think it especially helps with stuff with you." she picks backup. "I've been feeling like I mislead you - you've been awesome about it, but - all those warnings I gave you at the start, and then it's been a non-issue. Like, I know I'm still slow getting comfortable with new stuff, but it's all been weirdly fine. That-all makes a lot more sense now." She takes a shaky breath "I think . . . I think I identify as demisexual."

"Em I'm glad it's been fine so far. And I'm _so_ fucking glad you found this definition for stuff. . . " I pause to search for the words, noticing vaguely that I'm tearing up, and grateful that my car is the only one in this part of the parking lot. ". . . you don't need to work a certain way for me to want to be with you. I'm so relieved and excited for you with this. But I don't expect you to be able to perfectly predict what you'll need or how you'll react to stuff. I just want to be with you _however _ you are in the moment, and figure it out _together_. I've never felt so in synch with someone before - all I want from you is more of that. So please don't think you need to be predictable or, like, manage yourself some certain way, to deserve me. I'm already here."

And now I _am _the fool crying in Rio Tinto Staff/Player parking, messy with tears and snot, wishing I had a stash of napkins in the glovebox like Christen always does. And Emily's crying too - not hard, but worn out from the revelations of the morning and from my emo, emo baskets of feelings that fill up so fast these days that I have to share them with her or I feel like I'll explode. 

"I wanna cuddle you." she says, between sniffs.

"Me too" I agree. "Two weeks? Your place?"

"Yeah" she sighs, wiping her nose with the cuff of her sweatshirt.

"Ew, wash that. And buy tissues" I say, and she laughs weakly, still crying. 

"Em, babe, if I didn't have an away game the day after tomorrow I'd be buying a ticket to Portland right now."

She smiles at that, "I almost bought one yesterday. I only remembered to check the league schedule at the last minute."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are - Emily has a language for how she works, and a way to self-identify. 
> 
> I don't think that humans in general need 1000%-clearcut definitions of how and why we function, in order to live genuinely and fully. But also - definitely for me and for lots of folks close to me - I have experienced self-identifying with certain groups or ways of being as a huge source of self-assurance and relief and personal empowerment. 
> 
> Emily's having that experience here. She would have been fine without it, but right now she's drawing clarity from it in a way that's really healthy and exciting for her.


	15. Emily

The morning after we play a 1-1 draw in Providence Park I wake up to the smells of soap and sleep and Kelley. My face is smashed into her shoulder. The strap of the tank top she borrowed (stole) to sleep in is slipping down, giving me access to a sweep of skin.

She gives a little sigh and snuggles closer when I kiss the base of her neck. I work up until I can press my nose under the hinge of her jaw. Her eyes are still closed, but from the sounds she's making I know she's smiling.

I roll halfway on top of her, relieved that we're both in PJs - I'd be so overwhelmed if this was skin right now. She's relaxed under me - I can feel her ribcage press up against me as she breathes. I slide down little by little, absorbing how we fit against each other with every shift and keeping my lips against her skin as a kind of grounding. Neck, clavicle, breastbone. I find the divots between each rib attachment with my tongue. She's humming with every out-breath now, stroking gentle hands through my hair.

I trace the edge of her (my) tank top with my tongue, exploring the shallow swell of one breast, then the other. Her skin here only has a few freckled; it's so pale it seems translucent. 

"Wow" she murmurs finally, running her fingernails lightly against my scalp, "we have so much hotness to look forward to."

We both know where we're headed in the long run. We've talked enough, touched enough, we know there's more of both of those in our not-too-distant future. But when we finally go there, I want to have more time than we've got this morning. So I pull her out of bed with the promise of taking her to one of my favorite places.

When I tell her to pack for the airport but not bother showering she makes intrigued eyes. And when we get there and the lady at the check-in desk runs down the rules - starting with "non-sexual space" and ending with "clothing optional" - she pulls the best surprised/delighted face I've probably ever seen.

We're in one of my favorite places in Portland. Saltwater hottubs in the middle of the city, open to the sky and surrounded by tall walls covered in climbing plants. It's early enough to be quiet - just us and a couple of older ladies talking quietly. The whole place smells of cedar from the sauna in the corner.

Kelley slips in opposite me, naked, skin pebbling in the end-of-season chill until she sinks into the water. She's practically glowing now, angling herself against a jet with a sigh.

"How did you find this place?" she asks after a while.

"Mana showed me. I don't know how she found it." I shrug, aware that the motion is floating my breasts to the surface of the swirling water. 

Her eyes flick down for a second and she smiles at me - impish and charming. We're not touching, but this is the first time we've been naked together (well, naked in person - she took pains to make copies of the ESPN print edition available to everyone on the team). I'm hyper-aware of her body - the damp fillaments of hair that didn't make it into her bun, the way she's angling her back to put her sorest muscles against the jets, the bunch and shift of her arm muscles.

I hold out my hand across the tub for her bad ankle, and she stretches it toward me. I cup my hands around it, thinking about this part of her I've gotten so used to touching and how right now it's the start an uninterrupted runway to the rest of her body. When I look up she's watching me, patient and serene. She sits up a little in the water and pulls out her hair elastic to re-make her bun. I watch her nipples change from dark rosy disks to tight nubs in the cold air, and I know her eyes are on me as I look. She sits back down - no teasing like I half expected, just there in the moment with me.

I work her ankle through some PT mobilization exercises for a while (the ones I _definitely _didn't bribe Dawn's assistant to teach me before we left national camp), and then dig my thumbs into her instep. She tips her head back against the tub's edge with a sigh, her eyes drifting closed.

"Does it still hurt?" 

"It always hurts." She doesn't open her eyes to answer.

"When you play?"

"Yeah."

"Will you be able to give it a break after the season?"

She angles up and pins me with a look before dropping her head back. "I want another Olympic medal, Sonnett."

"I get it." I pause the massage for a moment, not sure if I can press her right now but deciding to chance it. "And I want you to be able to walk when you retire."

She makes a noncommittal sound, then quietly after a second says "Yeah, me too." It sounds more like a question than a plan.

"Em, it smells like home here. I can't figure it out."

"Honeysuckle." I can tell she's changing the subject, but I let it go. 

She glances around, lighting up when she spots it. "How come it's still blooming? It's practically fall."

"Probably the heat from the tubs."

She nods and hums. "Honeysuckle and cedar and salt . . . this is so good."

Kelley's so quiet as we leave, I almost worry. But once we're buckled in the car she lays the gentlest kiss on my cheek and then rests back, eyes still glowing the way they did when we were in the hot water.

"That was incredible. Thank you babe." she sighs.

"I'm glad you liked it. It's pretty much my favorite place here." I grin, "thanks for gettin' naked with me."

"Jeez, I can see why!" she takes my hand, "I really liked that as a way to be naked for the first time."

"I wasn't trying to tease you - _too _much, I mean." I want to reassure her.

"You weren't, Em. Being in a place we _couldn't _ be sexy was kind of perfect. Like, the boundary was outside of us rather than between us - it felt to me like it took some pressure off you." she squeezed my hand "besides, I kinda like how you tease me."

There's not really anything to say to that. It's like she has me figured out better than I do sometimes these days.

We sit for a minute, then she checks her phone. "I have to be at the airport in an hour and a quarter. I don't wanna go, babe..."

I nod, the pending separation hanging heavy between us for a minute before I pull myself together. "The airport's only 15 minutes from here. I wanna take you for lunch on Alberta Street first."

After a morning of mostly looking, lunch is nearly all touching. We end up sharing the bench seat, plates of falafel and kababs and baba ghanoush spread in front of us. I'm eating left-handed - no way I'm letting go of her right now. She tangled our ankles together the minute we sat down, and between bites I'm tilting to rest my head against hers, feeling her temple pop as she chews. 

"So I'll see you in two weeks?" she asks for the third time this visit. The Thorns have a bye week coming up, and I'm going to spend it in Utah - we looked up airbnbs near national parks last night.

"I'll buy my ticket when I get home." I reassure her - hell, reassure us both. I feel her nod against me and press a kiss into my hair.

I pull into short-term parking rather than drop her at the curb. My excuse is that the Royals need to be shown where the Blue Star Donuts inside the airport is because blueberry bourbon basil donuts haven't made it to Utah yet and this is a travesty which cannot stand.

But honestly I can't imagine a rushed goodbye right now. 

In the hush after I turn the car of she makes a small sound, and I turn to find her crying.

"Babe," I say, unfastening both our seatbelts and leaning to wrap my arms around her. "Oh babe."

"I don't wanna say goodbye to you" she murmurs, sniffing against the tears. "I don't want to stop feeling how I feel when we're together like this."

I climb across the console and settle myself on her lap, feeling her arms come around me immediately and clinging back just as tight. I don't know exactly how to reassure her - what magic words will fix this right now. So, typical awkward me, I don't even try.

"This is gonna suck." is all I have to say, laying a kiss against her temple.

She nods, starting to cry harder. It's hitting me too. This wonderful ease of knowing what she's feeling, of how easy she can read me, is about to be filtered through the laggy imprecise intermediaries of texting and FaceTime again. Her hands are about to be far away too - hands that were so soft stroking through my hair this morning, hands that are so sure as they wrap around my ribs now.

"Oh Em, oh sweetie, I didn't mean to set you off too." she says, husky and messy with sniffing, bringing a hand up to smooth the tears off my cheek.

Reader, she missed her flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hot tubs are real. They're in NE Portland. They're not sketchy at all, and I love them. The honeysuckle only stopped blooming about two weeks ago.
> 
> Blueberry bourbon basil donuts are real also, but get the passionfruit one instead - so much better.


	16. Emily

Soooo, if you'd asked me where I would declare my love for Kelley O'Hara I probably wouldn't have guess the back seat of my car in an airport parking garage. But I'm not mad about it. 

We'd been so cautious and measured until that afternoon - her immaculate about my boundaries, and me so careful to map them so we wouldn't trip and sprawl. At the thought of saying goodbye to her again already . . . I guess we were both just focused on that instead.

After I climbed into her lap we kissed and cried and kissed some more. She murmured "babe" and "sweetie" against my collarbones.

"Could we sit in the back for a sec?" I asked eventually, "my legs are going numb."

We didn't end up sitting, but we did end up in the back.

Kelley spent a few minutes on her phone with the Royals - turning on the charm and apologies - and ended up rebooked to a flight that evening.

Finally she dropped her phone in the footwell and borrowed against me, asking "what're you doing this afternoon?" 

"I don't have anything. Sinc left for Canadian team camp this morning and our head trainer's out on parental leave - we're just supposed to do recovery on our own today."

She nestled deeper against my neck.

"Emily, what're we gonna do? I'm so relieved to have a few more hours with you, but this whole distance thing is gross."

"_So _gross" I nodded against her. "We're _so _good at it though."

"We are!" she popped up to look at me - eyes sparkling even though they were still a little red from crying. "Your morning texts are, like, my favorite thing. And wearing your clothes . . . "

"You totally thought you'd get away with stealing my shirts this morning, didn't you." I interrupted her. "I saw you pack them."

She caught a breath but resorted to puppy-dog eyes rather than responding, so I continue.

"It's fine, babe. I'm so in love with you, you could pack half my closet and I'd just be happy to see you wearing my stuff."

"I'm love with you too."

Love. In love. In love with.

It had just slipped out - wholly true even if not particularly thought-through before now.

"Shit, Em." she chuckled a little, and reached out to stroke my hair. "I feel like that should have been some big fancy momentous reveal or something. We just . . . "

"Yeah, we just did," I agreed, "but also, I mean, duh."

"Mm, yeah - the way this feels it would be way more surprising if we _weren't _crazy about each other, wouldn't it."

I just nod and wind my arms around her to hold tight.


	17. Emily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads-up, smut ahead.

I don't really remember what we talked about for the next couple hours. Distance for sure, how other couples managed it, a bit about the upcoming off-season. I don't remember many specifics.

I do remember how warm her skin was when I slid my hands under her shirt, and the electric feeling when she did the same - the way my back arched off the back seat in a split second.

I wanted to just absorb her that afternoon - turn myself into a sponge and soak in so much Kelley-ness that it wouldn't feel like she'd left at all. I pulled her further on top of me as we talked, nosing her hair while she nuzzled her whole face against my neck. She still smelled like the cedar-scented bodywash from the hot tubs.

I started layering light kisses against her hairline, working down to her temple. She stopped talking when I reached her eyebrow, and just breathed with me - soft and slow - while I kissed gently over her eyelids and the bridge of her nose.

"This freckle right here . . ." I kissed it a few times, and she leaned in. "Kell, can I have it?" 

"I dunno love, you're going to have to catch it first." she replied, moving up until I lost my angle and was kissing the tip of her nose instead.

"You make . . ." she kissed my chin mid-sentence, "such cute ones of your own. . . We could trade."

"We could! I think these are my favorite." I kissed the corner of her mouth, where freckles mottled over the pink of her lips.

"Mmm, mine too."

She dug her fingers into my back as we kissed, pulling me up against her. It felt good being drawn closer - like there was no way she could ever feel _too _far away if she was this vibrant and close right now.

I moved to tangle our legs and her thigh slipped between mine. Suddenly everything was amplified - the delicious weight of her body, the taste of her mouth, the texture of her hair.

It lasted just a moment before she pulled away. "Shit babe, I didn't mean to push."

I wrapped my leg over hers. "You didn't. Keep going."

She still didn't move. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah - I want it."

She gives a half-moan half-sigh, finds my mouth again, and slides her leg high between my thighs. 

I have no idea if my panties were already wet, or if it happened in that instant, but as soon as the friction is there I'm _there for it. _It's weird only in how easy it feels, how completely right and fine and _normal_ it is to rub against her like this, and to have my thigh between hers in exchange. We settle into a delicious grind, me rocking my hips and her bracing herself in the small space of the back seat to bearing up against me (later I'd find a totally gross, totally adorable Kelley-footprint-smear on the car window).

I want her hands on me, her body, all of it. I tilt in for a deeper kiss, sucking on her tongue until she's squirming against me - losing the rhythm a little and making the _most _amazing noises. My panties can't really get wetter - a delicious slip-slide over my clit. I can feel the muscles high in her thigh flexing as I ride it. Her hands are on my ass now and she's murmuring "oh love . . . oh my gorgeous, so hot" into my mouth between kisses.

A fission of energy whips through her and she gasps, but she's back with me a second later - whispering filthy encouragement against my mouth as I start shaking. I can't find my breath any more, can only half hear her but _god _everything feels amazing. I search for her lips, suck her tongue into my mouth and wrap my leg more tightly over hers - and then I'm gone, flying, overheated and serene and out of this world for a moment before I drift back down.

When I open my eyes she's propped on an elbow, smiling and stroking damp tendrils of hair off my forehead. She murmurs "hey love" and they lays quiet, like she's basking in the afterglow as much as I am. I fumble my hands up to her face (they'd somehow ended up on her ass, inside her clothes). Her cheeks are pink, and she grins as I touch them.

"How're you doing?" I ask, realizing I'd lost track of her arousal as soon as my own kicked up.

"Oh I'm _fabulous. _I, um . . . " she blushes a little. I've learned, by now, that she gets charmingly shy about her own pleasure when she's not in the midst of it.

"You came? Right before me?"

She nods.

I laugh a little. "I was, um, kind of distracted."

"Oh you were _so _fucking distracted," she's grinning at me now. "It was awesome."

I want to pull her down on top of me again, so I do - licking her salty neck and slipping my hands under her shirt again so I can skate my fingers up the sweaty divots of her spine.

"Do you wanna talk about any of it? Stuff feeling ok?" She asks. She's still stroking fingers through my hair, cradling my scull like something precious and fragile, even though she must have seen me jump for half a dozen headers this month alone.

"Mm, nah I'm good! I kinda want to go again though."

"Oh babe, we'll _definitely _do that again. Mmm . . ._mmph_, oh you mean _right now?_"

"Um, yeah? You down?"

"Oh _hell_ yeah."


	18. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're skipping forward a month here. Mostly because I've had this chapter sitting in drafts for a while, and I'd rather share it with y'all than hold it back just because it might not end up being next chronologically.

As soon as she closes her apartment door I'm seeking out her mouth. It has been wildly, inappropriately, ridiculously too long since we’d been in the same place at the same time. Our Utah weekend fell through because of some rescheduling crud, and between our club schedules and endorsement travel it's been almost a month. The past week all I could think about was this moment - finally being here in her apartment in Portland, finally smelling her shampoo and getting to hold her soft hands and feel her sigh into my mouth.

I press her against the door and tilt in for a deeper kiss. Suddenly I remember how sly and agile her tongue is. She tastes like apples.

I slide my tongue into her mouth, ready for her to suck it deeper like she always does. But instead her hands that were fisted in my sweater a second ago are pressing us apart. She shakes her head, eyes cutting down and away. I feel an icicle of worry land in my chest - it’s been a while since we’ve tripped and sprawled over a boundary like this.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Wrong kind of hello right now?”

“I’m sorry.” She’s nodding, small and fast. 

”Oh love, don't apologize - I came on real strong.” I find her hands and seek out her fingertips with mine, standing a little apart from her, touching our hands palm to palm and matching up my breathing with hers - slowing myself down until I start feeling in sync with her breathing, her posture.

Her voice catches with frustration when she responds “I’ve been missing how you come on strong though - so fucking much."

I hesitate for a second, then ask “is it ok if I give you little kisses?” she nods. 

I lean up and lay a feather-weight kiss against her temple.

“There are lots of ways of missing” I murmur, stringing more kisses up towards her hairline. “I missed how you smell, and I missed holding hands with you, and I missed just being alone with you” I hear her give the little hum that always comes with a half smile, and feel her lace our fingers together. “I missed getting to talk to you without a phone in between. I missed cuddling - fuck, Em, I missed cuddling so much.” She’s nodding along now. I move to her other temple, layering the tiny kisses over each other. “I missed how you store your entire face in my shoulder when we sleep. I missed your handwriting. I missed wearing your clothes.”

”Kel?” She interrupts me. “Love, Can we cuddle?”

”Hell yeah” I reply.

”Can I scoop you?” she asks. I grin and nod. She helps me ease my backpack down and steadies me while I toe off my shoes and socks. As soon I'm barefoot she scoops me up and carries me to the couch, collapsing into the corner and pulling her legs up until we’re tangled together. I scoot so I can see her face, and, god she’s beautiful. I could sit here all day just looking.

I stroke her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “I missed your face.”

”I missed your fingers” she replies with a grin.

“Mm, I bet you did!” We grin at each other.

She starts again. “I missed your hugs. Behind me when I’m doing stuff in the kitchen.” 

“I missed your pillows. You’ve got such great pillows.”

“No fair!” She says, “that’s not a _me _thing. You could always buy nice pillows.”

”No, your pillows are so special - I’m convinced they come from from a portal into a comfier dimension.”

“How are you, Kels?” She suddenly asks.

I take a minute, finding her hand and tangling our fingers together.

“This month was hard.” I glance up and see her gaze on me - soft and steady and open. “I usually just - wherever I am I’m there 100 percent. And when I’m in the next t place I’m _there_ 100 percent. There’s not much room for keeping up with the people from my other places. It’s worked really well until now, but you broke it.”

”Oh shit! Sweetie I didn’t mean to bust a thing that worked for you.” There’s a tiny wrinkle between her eyebrows.

"No I _wanted_ you to break it.” I reassure her. “I want you with me in all of my places, Em - I wanna show them to you, wanna feel you there. I’d be so lonely for you if we didn’t.”

She's nodding. It’s been a month of her meeting my Utah teammates, my Under Armor crew, meeting so many corners of my life through pixelated FaceTime connections and endless texted selfies. 

“I want to keep meeting it," she's nodding still "I never knew how many parts your life had, before when we were just team mates."

”This month was so good. But it was hard - I want you in all those things in person. I missed you so much, Em.”

”I missed you too. I got used to having you here so fast - days when I'm on my own feel completely different now that it means I don't get to be near you.”

She shifts a little, looking down at our linked hands. “So, feel free to mack on me or feel me up or whatever. I just needed a little check in before we went there - get used to you again, I guess.”

I catch myself smiling at her phrasing. 

“I’m ok like this, Em. If that’s better right now.”

She shuffled closer. "Uh, I wanna be kissing you though." She hardly has to lean forward at all for our faces to be nearly touching. She kisses me - slow but deep. And this isn’t the kind of rushed connection like when we were at the door - there's something in this kiss that brings us _together_. I sigh into it, noticing that I’m moaning when she starts slipping her tongue against mine. I let go of her hands and search through her clothing layers until I find warm skin - rubbing slow circles against her back, so impossibly soft I’d forgotten what it was like. I feel her hands weave into my hair - guiding me onto her lap, taking us deeper and closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for you, all my amazing generous commenters:  
I've written a short tiny future-fic in this verse. I love it, but also it's really hella sad (not relationship-ending sad, more future-fic-stretches-so-far-into-the-future-that-it-mentions-natural-end-of-life-death-of-a-character sad).  
I really like what I've written, and I want to share it. But also, I know this fic has become a sweet comforting safe space for a lot of us and I don't want to break that - especially, I don't want to break it by just appending the future fic as another chapter that readers will cruise right into without TWs or other support. How would you advise I approach this? Some possible options (open to more suggestions too of course):  
a) Don't post the future fic - let this 'verse be as an eternally cozy comfy present-day place  
b) Make it a series, and post the future fic as a separate story in the series, with the appropriate TWs and tags of course (I like this idea, but also I'm concerned it might be overkill? The futurefic is less than 1000 words)  
c) Post the future fic as an unrelated story, and link to it in the end-notes of a few chapters (there are a couple existing chapters that would be good leaping-off points from which to read it)


	19. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up here the morning after the previous chapter.
> 
> This one's dedicated to BeaSwann - most excellent nerd about so many things.

I wake up on east coast time - the Portland sky showing just the barest hints of pink beyond Mt. Hood, framed perfectly by Emily's bedroom window as I lift my head.

Emily's a warm bundle in my arms. She had woken up in the middle of the night complaining about being too cold, fiddle with the thermostat, and - I realize now - must have gotten up and rooted through my suitcase where we abandoned it by her front door last night. She's wearing a USA Beat Everybody shirt now - the one I cut the sleeves off to use as a workout tank. It _can't _be keeping her warmer than the tshirt she went to bed in, but it makes me smile.

This is the sixth night, no, only the fifth that we've slept next to each other. The more I think about it the stranger it feels that we're still at such a low number.

Emily stirs a bit, makes some adorable grumbling noises, and presses back against me. I want to roll her over and kiss the bridge of her nose, bite the tip of it just until she wakes up and pushes me away or kisses back. But I restrain myself. I pull the Breakup Prep Quilt higher over our shoulders (we've been calling it that ever since she told me about how she prepared for that conversation weeks ago), and nestle my face in Emily's hair, and kissing softly against the fabric of my (now definitely her) shirt. Her breathing eases into something deep and even, and I follow her back down into sleep.

The next time I wake up she's stirring. Not getting up, but cuddling deeper into me. I slide my hand from where it was resting on her hip, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. She makes an approving noise and laces our fingers together over her stomach.

"Morning baby." Emily murmurs. She's more awake than I thought - full words, not just the vowels that make up most of her communication first thing. "Do you wanna . . . " She teases our joined fingers inside the waistband of her leggings.

"Mmm," I say against her neck, "Can we stay like this for a sec? I feel like we just got close enough."

She scoffs. "Never close enough. I mean, yeah of course, but . . . I'm totally gonna lodge a formal complaint about this whole idea of 'close enough' with the committee after I've had coffee."

She has me grinning now. This happens every time, and still I can never predict how. Days I'm away form her, I think about how she'd react - to the conversations I overhear in airports, the oddly decorated hotel rooms I end up in, the menus, the food, the people. All I've learned is how bad I am at predicting her sense of humor - and how much dearer that makes it.

"Em, love," I say now, "your concerns will be addressed with the gravest of attention."

"They fucking better." she mutters. 


	20. Emily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up from the previous chapter. Heads up - here be smut.
> 
> Sorry not sorry to take this story deep into Smut-town on a day when many folks are hanging out with bio-fam. Umm, find a nice quiet corner to read in? I have another chapter queued up for tomorrow which is hella soft and _not_ smut, if that helps.

I tease Kelley - probably too much - about her bougie ways. About her $14 salads, her tie-dyed socks bought handmade off Etsy, her fancy scotches with (god help us all) Budweiser for a beer back.

But when Kelley fumbles up onto her elbow, orders us coffee (_just_ coffee - not even breakfast) with Uber Eats, and then flings her phone away to pull me close again, I set aside the urge to tease. To be honest, I'm kind of too busy.

When I woke up, Kelley was wrapped around my back making the sweetest snuffling sounds. We went from her hand light on my hip, to it wrapped around my waist, to me working my ass back against her (I didn't even notice at first - the cut of her hip bones just felt so good, and I felt restless to be closer), to her kissing the back of my neck and the curve of my ear.

"Fuck, Em, I wanna. . . your ass feels so. . ." that's when I realize I'm rocking back into her in a steady rhythm.

"You wanna help me out?" 

She whispers "Fuck yes!" and her urgent breath against the back of my neck makes me shiver.

I guide her hand under my leggings, then inside my panties. Her fingers find my clit and right away she's moaning as loud as I am. 

"Oh god, Em" she says against my skin, "So warm . . . fuck, you feels so good. Show me?" her fingers slip off me for a second as she joins our hands, bringing them back between my legs until I'm feeling just how wet I am.

"Yeah . . . _oh_fuck" is all I manage before I'm rocking my hips again - our joined fingers sliding to the very edge of my entrance on every stroke, before skimming away. 

I'm on the verge of coming almost right away. Her hand so strong and eager tangled with mine, the hard press of her hips against my ass every time I rock back and then the tease of possible penetration as I tilt forward. I keep losing my breath completely - at the sliding friction of her palm over my clit, at the way she's working her teeth down the tendons of my neck, at how she's wormed her free hand underneath me and laced our fingers together on that side too.

Somehow having her holding my free hand is the anchor I need to let my back arch and my head snap up (and, god, her teeth are almost at my clavicle now - I've never felt this exposed and this safe all at once). I guide her up to my clit, starting hard circles that she takes over as I lose focus. I can't keep up with her fingers any more . . .can't do anything but arch hard against her and breath her name and feel the world narrow down until I come hard under her hand.

My body relaxes in stages. Shivery jolts as my muscles un-tense and I remember how to breath again. She keeps our fingers laced the whole time.

"Em," she murmurs against my neck. She's been tasting the sweat there - little kitten licks that should be gross but feel calming and good as my nerve endings everywhere fizz and spark - still recovering from my orgasm. "Em, I wanna spend all morning in bed with you, but I'm getting a caffeine headache."

"You could drink coffee _in_ my bed" I offer.

Two minutes later she's got her phone out. I make myself wait to turn over until she's done.

"How bad is your headache?" I ask, once we're facing each other.

She laughs. "You mean, is this 'not now dear, I've got a headache'? No way in hell." Her hand is slow and firm against my low back, pulling me close.

We make out until the coffee shows up - god knows what I smell like when I answer the door.

I love that Kelley getting off isn't tied to my getting off. In concept I like sex to quid pro quo, but it feels amazing to be able get really into sex with her and at the same time feel un-pressured about what's expected from my body in return. In the back of my mind I know I should probably tell her this. But it all feels so easy - I only think about it when I'm touching here and then . . . my god, well, then I'm _way _too busy.

"You should finish your coffee" I tell her, as I slide completely under the quilt and start working her leggings off. I can't help but laugh at the muffled "oh fuck" and the hollow thud of her to-go cup hitting my closet door.

She smells amazing, close like this. All eager hips and close-cropped public hair and the softest skin I've felt in my life on the insides of her thighs. She's humming with every out-breath, pleased and a little husky, and she gets suddenly loud as I set my mouth against the junction of her thigh.

I know how she does this for herself - the urgent friction, the building pressure. I know the tempo she hits at the start - not too fast, just barely dance-able. And I know the way her hips buck up at that first touch, even when it's her own. 

All I can taste on the smooth skin of her low belly is salt, but god I can smell her. She tilts her hips up towards me and I was going to put my fingers there, but - oh god - now I need, _need, _to have my hands on her ass. I slide around and dig my fingers in and she immediately presses back into me, her thighs falling wider until there's more space between them than next to her, and the only reasonable thing to do is shuffle over between her legs.

I can feel her ass muscles working. She's lifting off the bed like it's not costing her any effort at all. She sets a rolling rhythm that's just the same tempo as last time we did this, when she worked herself over with her fingers, and oh - _oh,_ the way her _ass_ is moving - my hands will staying _right_ where they are, thanks.

I'm probably a little tentative as I set my mouth on her. Her reaction though - she swears and bucks up against me, and suddenly I'm _in it_ and everything feels familiar and easy. I find her clit with the flat of my tongue and she's immediately working against me - riding my mouth until my chin is slippery. 

I can hear exactly how urgent she's getting (omg, neighbors, I'm _so _sorry but not sorry). So I back off a little, exploring down through her folds and getting a full mouthful of her salty-tangy taste. I'm forgetting to stay quiet now too - echoing back every sigh of hers with a hum against her. I tease around her entrance, feeling her thighs tense against me, her ass going hard under my hands. 

I'm not ready for this to be over. Because 1) I feel like I could do this for hours, and wouldn't _that_ be the best day ever, and 2) I need her to keep making those sounds, keep groping her own ass with a fumbling hand until she finds my fingers and tangles them together, and 3) this is undoubtedly the hottest thing I've ever in my life been part of. I can feel the zing of my own clit against my underwear and I know that if I put my hand there I'd come with her right now. After all the misfires with past partners, all the lukewarm makeouts and disappointing conversations, my god do I want to stay here, keeping us both on the edge, and savor having gotten here - not over the precipice, but right at it.

I lap a against her entrance but don't push in. She's moaning now, and I pause when I hear my name. "Em . . . Em?" she manages. "Clit please? I mean, do whatever you want, but . . . I need . . . "

I hum and work my way up. After everything - everyone - it's still hard to remember sometimes that 'first time' doesn't equate to 'only time'. But as I feel her hips tremble under me and her fingers digging into her own ass to be able to hold my hand, I know that this time is a start - not an end.

Afterward she squirms down under the covers with me for some reason, rather than waiting for me to come up. We end up in dark, overheated cocoon. She's still a little uncoordinated from the orgasm and I try to find a way to rest against her while she seem to be made of entirely of knees and wiggling.

"Em . . . Em, you're so beautiful."

"Kels, you can't even see me right now."

"But I _know it_. You're so . . .with your pretty hair, and letting me hold your hand, and. . . " she's babbling now. Winding her arms around my neck and interrupting herself to kiss me, then breaking the kiss with another spill of words. "God, Em, your mouth. It's like you know exactly how I . . . oh shit, let me kiss you please."

"I pay attention." I say, the next time we break apart.

"Hmm?" she's working her mouth against my throat, a thigh between mine, winding our legs to get even closer together.

"I _do _know what you like. You've shown me."

"Oh god, how are you so perfect? So perfectly, quick study, perfect girl?" she's muffled now against my collarbones, right where I like it, and I give up on talking for a while.


	21. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of you lovelies asked whether the team knew yet. Here’s that story - no smut at all in this one.

The team catches on the day after Thanksgiving. It’s totally social media's fault.

The gals deserve their rest. God knows, we all need _way _more downtime then we're going to get this off-season. (I don't know how the players in the W League do it - Em says playing in both was fine for her, but she was practically an infant back then and she also had some serious technique work to do on her tackle precision, so...) I'm not mad about the downtime. But I'm a little chagrinned that it didn't occur to me how much of that time would be spent on Instagram.

Really, I can't blame them. They're vacationing somewhere warm, or holed up with family - either way, of course some major social media scrutiny is going to happen.

It was just two posts. Well, three with hers. Or five if you count her story from yesterday . . . or seven, I guess, if you count my stories too.

Her family wasn't able to get together this year, and I was on a ridiculously tight turnaround between a Stanford event and sponsorship meetings in Seattle. So we cozied up in her Portland apartment and (somehow with less emotional processing than the first time we held hands - but just as much ease) had our very first holiday together. Just the two of us.

It was just a few posts.

An early morning clip of me, still in PJs and bedhead, the camera starting on my ass as I bent over her oven, and then zooming in on the cornbread I was checking. (And of course I'm a cornbread stuffing girl - do we need to have words about this?)

One from right before we ate, all the serving dishes squared off against each other for our Sides Cook-off Competition before we got down to eating (I mean judging). I should have chosen music for that one - the entire audio is me cackling and Em teasing me about watching too many BA Test Kitchen videos. (So I put sumac in my cranberry sauce - again, we _will_ have words if we need to.)

A video from each of us that I didn't even realize were similar until later. Emily, sleepy and lax, collapsed into the corner of the couch. She's kicking her legs a little to get them further under the Breakup Prep Quilt. The late sun is slatting through the blinds behind her, and TV noises filter through - an announcer sounding urgent and know-it-all, saying something about the Cowboys' defensive line. And her clip of me, in that same late afternoon light, completely passed out in the opposite corner of the couch, clutching the quilt up to my chin, a stray wisp of my hair fluttering as I breathed. (So, we're sharing a blanket. And a couch. And a holiday. I would have shared all these with her before too, in a goddamn heartbeat. Any challenge on that and it will go _far _beyond words.)

I'm sounding defensive. I know.

The thing is, it's all so normal now. We inched into this relationship so carefully at first but now it just _is_; the ease and normality of it all is one of the things I feel _most _protective of, when I think about me and Em. For once in my life, dramatics aren't part of the thrill.

There was just one more picture. The most normal of all of them. I have dozens like it on my phone by now - a whole album of pictures so familiar and comforting, I fall asleep looking at them some nights. Pictures where I seem to glow in a way I never see when I search my own face in the mirror. Pictures where she's got that smile I know the exact shape of from kissing it - so delighted with her delight that I can't stop myself, even though I know she's too busy being happy to properly kiss me back.

The next morning I post a couple of those pictures, and Emily posts one too. The one she posts is my favorite - she's tucked into my shoulder and giggling at some joke, and I'm smiling and focused entirely on her. So, she's wearing UnderArmor and I'm in her pink sweatshirt. So, we're lost in our own little world. So, my fingers are smoothing her mess of hair off her forehead.

I sound defensive, I know. But this is our normal - and I want to share it as exactly that; a sweet fact, not a sensation or political statement.

We hadn't really game-planned how or when to tell our team mates or the world at large. Our families knew by now, and Emily had told Lindsey, but those conversations weren't nearly as loud as the cascade of reactions we knew would start once it hit social media. What we _had _talked about was that, once the news broke, we didn't want to hold anything back. We knew that the rest of the world would see everything as fair game - our orientations, our relationship, our national team dynamic. If we were going to be dealing with that scrutiny anyway, we'd agreed to take advantage of it by just being our normal mushy selves - no stressing about sitting too close on the bench or whether we could hold hands through the airport. If it was too much for people, well then, they didn't have to look.

Officially coming out hadn't been particularly high on my to-do list before now (though there were enough photos with Hope or other girls floating around that #queertwitter had a good idea what was up). But being openly together with Emily felt important in a way that being out for its own sake didn't. 

I'm impressed but not surprised when Katie Nolan figures it out before even Allie does.

Bless her, she keeps her insta comment to "Aww you cozy little bugs!" and saves the rest for a text. 

I'm not even finished running my reply to Katie past Em before Allie texts me a block of unending capslock. When I see Allie’s text come in I start counting - more than 10 seconds, and I know that instead of double-texting me she's texting Alex to get her butt into our group chat.

Sammy apparently gives no fucks at all - she facetimes Emily from a mall filled with black friday shoppers.

Em puts an airpod in, but I can see Kristie stretching over Sam's shoulder, both of them talking at once.

"Geez you guys, happy thanksgiving to you too." Emily finally gets in, turning to roll her eyes at me. My phone vibrates - Alex right on cue. And also - ohhhkey - Becky just texted. Well _that _could get interesting.

Emily's finally being given space to talk. I hear "Mm-hm", and "We did both posted them on purpose", and then "but didn't you guys _really_ call to find out which of us makes better mashed potatoes, though?" After that a tumble of tinny sound leaks through her airpod and she just lets the shit-eating grin break across her face.

I send Allie and Alex a quick "I will answer questions that include more punctuation and less yelling." Then I turn to Becky's text.

Emily is laughing now. She sounds at ease, and when I glance up she's glowing a little.

I can tell that Becky wants to roast the shit out of me, but her first text is all Captain-mode - asking how official we want to be on general media, and if there's anything she or the Royals can do to support. After that, things go the direction I expect.

**Broon: **You look happy like I've never seen. So glad for you babe <3

**Broon: **And if EITHER of you hurt the other one, My. Lecture. Will. Last. For. Years.

**Broon: **Telling Sonny too, fyi. I love you. Don't fuck up.

I must have made a face, because Emily makes inquisitive noises as she closes facetime and pops her earbud out.

"Becky texted me." I tell her. 

"Oh. Shit." Emily blanches. "I've been expecting it from Alex. But I hadn't mentally prepared myself for Becky." Her phone buzzes as she finishes talking, and after reading the message she shakes her head. "How is Broon so scary and so sweet at the same time?"

"I have no clue." I replied, leaning back into the couch. 

I hold out my arms for her. She makes me wait while she fetches a phone charger from our bedroom (it's going to be a long afternoon). Then snuggles back against my chest so we can both still use our phones. Her thumbs are already flying, and I look over her shoulder to see Rose's "WTF I thought you were joking when you wouldn't shut up about her" followed by pink circling hearts and the brain-exploding emoji. 


	22. Emily

She's leaving tomorrow. The hours until then can't go slow enough. I'll see her again in less than three weeks (this whole holidays-together thing is pretty awesome - now that we've started I'm going to do whatever I can not to stop). But the thought of waking up without her for seventeen mornings, of cooking for one instead of two, of fishing for my damn phone whenever I need her to know something . . .all that feels so illogical it's almost obscene.

Her face is so dear. I try to memorize the pattern of freckles at the edge of her hairline in the fading afternoon light, but she sniffs and shifts in her sleep, burrowing into my neck until all I can see is her hair and the pale curve of her ear.

All visit, I've been waking up before her from our afternoon naps. She's joked that the tryptophan hits her hard every time we dig into the Thanksgiving leftovers. But it's more than that; she's tired. It shows up in the little smudgy circles under her eyes in the mornings. In how I'll suggest a 6 mile run and she won't push for 8. In how it only takes a couple drinks now for her to get even more clingy than usual (though the sass and the sex drive don't slow down even as her eyelids droop). I wish I could make it better. But there's no real way to change it right now - both of us are pushing 4 weeks of commitments into 3 weeks of time almost every month, just to spend that extra week together. Being run ragged feels like the best choice, though; I know that both of us are going to keep right on doing it until a better solution comes along. There's no map yet for what that might look like, but I'm getting awfully close to pulling out a pen and just fucking drawing one - I need time together to be the default, not the exception.

She shifts against me, making restless noises and fighting against the slope of the couch to trying and get closer. I wrap an arm around her and pull her in, holding here tight against me so she doesn't need to work so hard in her sleep.

Her hair is so silky. I never noticed before this whole thing started. I'd noticed her calves and her biceps, the wry set of her mouth, the way her left eyebrow curved and her right one peaked. But I'd never noticed the slight wave of her hair when it's air-dried, the way the slippery-smooth strands slide rather than tangle. I kiss along her part, running my nose over her hair, memorizing the texture for when she's gone.

I've been a Portlander for four years. I figured out how to be an adult here (well, for a given value of adulting - some might quibble). And I've always known I'd fight like hell to stay here if the league threw me a curve ball. Like Sinc and Tobin I've seen myself setting anchor here. But lately it's felt like I'm moored to a person rather than a place. It feels like home when I'm with her - and that home could be a pair of bus seats just as easily as it could be our haunts back in Georgia. 

"Babe?" She says, sounding barely awake.

"Yeah love." I stroke her hair, slow and soft. "Go back to sleep."

"Don't wanna miss time with you" she said, sounding mournful. I should be more surprised than I am that our minds are running on parallel tracks like this, but it feels like the most normal thing.

"Just finish your nap."

"Mm..." she says, breath damp against my neck. "Then we could fuck. Or go for phở - there were noodles in my dream."

"Ok love, that sounds good." I trace slow circles between her shoulder blades until her breath evens out.

This, _this _is the stuff I miss. The un-studied way she pushes close to me, the random things she says from the margins of consciousness that will never make it into a text message. I may have managed fine without these things for years, but now I want them fiercely. I want them every single day - close and easy until they become utterly normal.

"Emmm," she whines (and, damn, I really thought she was asleep). "Nap with me. You're thinking too loud."

"Ok babe." I murmur, resettling against the cushions. "You're right. I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few more MKSR-verse vignettes in draft that I'll add here eventually, but I'm starting a new Sohara story that I'm really excited about and I don't want to shortchange either that one or this one by trying to write them both at once. So I'm declaring this something of a resting point for our sweet girls in this 'verse.
> 
> I want to say thank you, from all the chambers of my heart, for reading and commenting and reaching out to talk to me. This fic fostered connections and productive figurings-out and cathartic grumblings and wonderful conversations in a way I've never experienced before as an author. It's magical, and it's all down to you - I could not have created that on my own. <3


	23. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do intend to lay this fic down for a bit. But it's nearly 1am, and I made problematic caffeine decisions today, and half my building neighbors are still up and banging around. So here we are; fluff time, goddamnit.

Every now and then, there's a touch that feels like that first one.

Every now and then, I take Emily's hand or she lays her fingers across my arm, and I'm back in that windowseat - touching her on purpose for the first time.

Outside of PDX security she touches the back of my hand with the backs of her fingers, and I'm there.

We made it out of her car this time (be proud of us). We got all the way out of the parking garage, past the donut counter, and past the shop full of practical- and cozy-looking wool plaid things (she had to tow me away by the belt-loop, but it counts). 

But that feather-light touch of her fingers and I'm suddenly having very hard time thinking about the TSA Precheck line.

I pull her aside - my hand careful and conservative on her upper back, over her hoodie (her skin suddenly feels sacred again).

When we're tucked into a corner I turn to her and hold my hand out, palm up, asking for something. It's the stupidest fucking angle - she can't really hold my hand like this, and I have no idea what I'm asking her for right now. But then Em drops her fingertips into my palm. She draws tiny circles. I feel a tickle-buzz in the soft center of my palm as her fingertips pop across my heartline and lifeline. I close my fingers slightly around hers - holding something precious.

I can feel her eyes on me, but all I can focus on is her hands. Her touch feels groundbreaking, like something completely new and unknown, even though her fingers were inside me two hours ago. I want to memorize it - or wrap the feeling up and take it with me somehow. And also, tbh, I'm scared. Scared to look at her and know I have to say goodbye for three weeks. Scared that I won't find words for how serenely normal this all feels (even though it also feels like _the biggest _deal).

When I finally meet her eyes, she's looking at me like she knows already. Like everything's been said. Like - for these last handful of minutes - we can push aside the clatter of the airport and the seventeen endless days until we're together again, and we can just be.


	24. Kelley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like the early days of this fic when I was writing to exorcize my Tinder demons, this chapter is pure self-indulgence. I'm a rediculous number of days into being sick, and I got sent home to rest _by my CEO_ this morning, so am a rather complaint-riddled critter in general rn. Cue the fluff!

Emily, I'm discovering, is awful at being sick.

I must have dodged this bug by just a couple days after thanksgiving. However that timing worked out, by the weekend Emily's sending me selfies surrounded by a sea of tissues. She looks so mournful, if I didn't have three meetings in three different cities this week I'd be booking a flight back to Portland to take care of her.

She tried to power through it for the first couple days - her morning texts determined to the point of belligerence, disintegrating to confusion and whining by lunch, followed by long radio silences when she crashed hard into naps. By now she's resigned herself, but she's still adorably resentful of the whole situation. I feel bad for her but, oh, her hilariously grumpy text messages, and those selfies with the color high on her cheeks, and the way she leans on me for comfort just that 5% more than she'd normally let herself. I'd make her better in a second if I could, but also I'm kind of loving getting to take care of her sweet weird grouchies - even if it's from a distance.

**Sonny: **I'm out of food

**KO: **Completely? Your cupboards are bare?

**Sonny: **Nooooo I'm out of GOOD food. And I'm out of soup. And my throat hurts so bad

**Sonny: **And I'm out of cuddles

She melts me. This woman - this ridiculously adorable woman. 

I thought that everything had already changed, with how we were around each other. So much trust had grown and opened up between us these last few months. But thanksgiving cracked open a new layer I didn't even know what there. It's subtle, but every day I notice it again.

Because, for all that Emily's got the sharpest banter on the team, and for all that she's one of "the kids" (who the WNT staff this summer _definitely_ joked about microchipping so we don't lose them in airports), she always has possession of herself. There's something self-contained, sometimes almost self-defensive about her whole public face. And she's started to set that aside when she's with me. She's gone from clowning to playfulness. From cracking jokes at her own expense to genuinely vulnerable. 

I guess it's shifted in me, too. We still tease like whoa, but there are little pockets of information and feelings where we don't - where there's this lovely, fierce, mostly-quiet mutual protectiveness instead. We haven't talked about why we're doing it. I don't even know _how_ she knows when to do it for me - just that she does. It's easy to read when I shouldn't tease her - the anecdotes where she doesn't crack a joke after, the stories where her wry mouth stays drooped at the corners rather than twisting into its otherwise-constant grin - she's as clear as a semaphore tower, when it's ok to poke fun and when I get to protect.

**KO: **Oh babe. I'd FedEx you all the cuddles, but I'm not sure they'd stay fresh.

**Sonny: **I'll take freeze-dried. Could I reconstitute them with hot water, do you think? Or should I use beer?

**KO: **Probs best with whiskey. Though if you're going to all that trouble just wait and get 'em fresh - they'll be in season all Christmas, I promise <3

**Sonny: **...

**Sonny: **Ummmm so

**Sonny: **I may be out of whiskey too :(

**Sonny:** And did I mention soup

I sigh and pull up Postmates. This, at least, I can do something about.

**KO: **Pho or tom yum?

**Sonny:** Baaaabe

**Sonny: **You don't have to. I can do it.

**KO: **Shush and let me feed you. I cut off your cuddle supply - least I can do. Pho?

**Sonny:** Yeah

**Sonny:** No...

**Sonny: **They never send the spicy chili oil. That's the best part

I'm grinning now. I hate, _hate _that I can't be in Portland right now - going on CVS runs and muting _America’s Best Dance Crew_ for her once she falls asleep. But here at least I've still got some girlfriend points in the bank. I place the order before texting her back.

**KO:** There's chili oil in your fridge. We bought you some, remember?

**Sonny:** BAAAAABE <3<3<3

**KO: **Theeeeere's the capslock enthusiasm we all know and love <3

**Sonny: **How're you so good at that? How are you taking care of me better a thousand miles away than I can here in my head?

**KO: **I think it just feels better coming from someone else, sometimes.

**Sonny: **Yeah

**Sonny: **It feels better bc its coming from you <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NGL the most wishful-thinking-est part of this whole chapter is the chili oil. I would pay a pretty penny to be able to buy the delicious chili oil from my pho place at the grocery store.


End file.
